by Isabel Wolff
‘What torture. And how does Betty look now?’
‘To be honest, exactly the same; but she’s convinced she looks younger, so it was obviously worth it.’ I considered the logic of this. ‘Oh, I’d better go, Phoebe – John’s waving at me …’
I pushed on the door of the shop. Annie looked up from her repair.
‘I only heard half the programme, I’m afraid, because I had a brush with a shoplifter.’
My heart skipped a beat. ‘What happened?’
‘As I was fiddling with the radio this man tried to slip one of the crocodile-skin wallets into his pocket.’ Annie nodded at the basket of wallets and purses I keep on the counter. ‘Luckily I glanced into the mirror at the critical moment, so at least I didn’t have to chase after him down the street.’
‘Did you call the police?’
She shook her head. ‘He begged me not to, but I told him that if I ever saw him in here again I would. Then I had this woman …’ Annie rolled her eyes. ‘She picked up the Bill Gibb silver lace mini-dress, slapped it on the counter and said she’d give me twenty quid for it.’
‘Damn cheek!’
‘So I explained that at £80 the dress was already very reasonable, and that if she wanted to haggle she should go to the souk.’ I snorted with laughter. ‘Then I had a bit of a thrill – Chloë Sevigny came in. She’s filming in South London – we had a nice chat about acting.’
‘She wears a lot of vintage, doesn’t she – and did she buy anything?’
‘One of the Jean-Paul Gaultier Body Map tops. Now I’ve got some messages for you.’ Annie picked up a piece of paper. ‘Dan phoned – he’s got the tickets for Anna Karenina next Wednesday and says he’ll meet you outside the Greenwich Picturehouse at seven.’
‘Will he now …?’
Annie glanced at me. ‘Aren’t you going?’
‘I wasn’t sure … but … well, it seems I am, doesn’t it?’ I added irritably.
Annie gave me a puzzled look. ‘Then Val rang – she’s finished your repairs and says please can you collect them. And there was a message on the answerphone from a Rick Diaz in New York.’
‘He’s my American dealer.’
‘He’s got some more prom dresses for you.’
‘Great – we need them for the party season.’
‘We do. He added that he’s got some bags he’d like you to take.’
I groaned. ‘I’ve got hundreds of bags.’
‘I know – but he says please can you e-mail him. Then, last but not least – these arrived.’ Annie disappeared into the kitchen and came out carrying a bouquet of red roses so huge it obscured her top half.
I stared at them.
‘Three dozen,’ I heard her say from behind the flowers. ‘Are they from this chap Dan?’ she asked as I unpinned the envelope and took out the card. ‘Not that your personal life is any of my business,’ she added as she put the roses on the counter.
Love Miles. Was that a salutation or a command? I wondered.
‘They’re from someone I’ve met quite recently,’ I said to Annie. ‘In fact, I met him at the Christie’s auction.’
‘Really?’
‘He’s called Miles.’
‘Is he nice?’
‘Seems to be.’
‘And what does he do?’
‘He’s a solicitor.’
‘A successful one, judging by the flowers he sends. And how old is he?’
‘Forty-eight.’
‘Ah.’ Annie raised an eyebrow. ‘So he’s vintage, too.’
I nodded. ‘Circa 1960. A bit of wear and tear … a few creases …’
‘But plenty of character?’
‘I think so … I’ve only met him three times.’
‘Well, he’s clearly smitten so I hope you’re going to see him again.’
‘Perhaps.’ I didn’t want to admit that I’d be seeing Miles this very weekend, in Provence.
‘Would you like me to put them in a vase for you?’
‘Yes, please.’
She cut the ribbon. ‘In fact, I’ll need two vases.’
I took off my coat. ‘By the way, you’re still okay to work on Friday and Saturday, aren’t you?’
‘I am,’ Annie replied as she removed the cellophane. ‘But you will definitely be back by Tuesday?’
‘I’m returning on Monday evening. Why?’
Annie was stripping off the lower leaves with a pair of scissors. ‘I’ve got another audition on Tuesday morning, so I won’t be able to get here until after lunch. I’ll make up the time on the Friday, if that’s okay?’
‘That would be fine. What’s the audition for?’ I asked with a sinking heart.
‘Regional rep,’ she replied wearily. ‘Three months in Stoke-on-Trent.’
‘Well … fingers crossed,’ I said disingenuously, then I felt guilty about hoping that Annie would fail. But it would only be a matter of time before she did get a job and then …
My train of thought was interrupted by the bell. And I was just going to leave Annie to it when I saw who the customer was.
‘Hi,’ said the red-haired girl who’d tried on the lime green cupcake dress nearly three weeks ago.
‘Hi,’ Annie replied warmly as she put half the roses in a vase. The girl stood staring at the green cupcake dress, then she slowly closed her eyes. ‘Thank God,’ she breathed. ‘It’s still here.’
‘It’s still here,’ Annie echoed cheerfully as she put the first vase on the centre table.
‘I was convinced it wouldn’t be,’ the girl said, turning to me now. ‘I almost couldn’t bear to come in, in case it had sold.’
‘We have sold two of those prom dresses recently, but not your one – I mean that one,’ I corrected myself. ‘The green one.’
‘I’ll have it,’ she said happily.
‘Really?’ As I unhooked it from the wall I noticed how much more self-confident the girl seemed than when she’d come in with … what was his name?
‘Keith didn’t like it.’ The girl opened her bag. ‘But I loved it.’ She looked at me. ‘And he knew that. I don’t need to try it on again,’ she added as I hung the dress in the changing room. ‘It’s perfect.’
‘It is perfect,’ I said. ‘On you. I’m thrilled you’ve come back for it,’ I confided as I took it to the till. ‘When a garment suits a customer as well as this suited you, then I really want them to have it. Have you got some glamorous party to wear it to?’ I thought of her looking dismal in black at the Dorchester with the vile Keith and his ‘top people’.
‘I’ve no idea when I’m going to wear it,’ the girl replied calmly. ‘I only knew that I had to have it. Once I’d tried it on, well …’ She shrugged. ‘The dress claimed me.’
I folded it, pressing down its voluminous underskirts so that it wouldn’t burst out of the carrier.
The girl took a pink envelope out of her bag and handed it to me. It was a Disney Princess one, with a picture of Cinderella in the corner. I opened it. Inside was £275 in cash.
‘I’m happy to give you the five per cent discount,’ I said.
The girl hesitated for a second. ‘No. Thank you.’
‘I really don’t mind …’
‘It’s £275,’ she insisted. ‘That was the price,’ she added firmly, almost aggressively. ‘Let’s stick to it.’
‘Well … okay.’ I shrugged, slightly taken aback. As I handed her the dress, she emitted a little sigh, of ecstasy almost. Then, her head held high, she left the shop.
‘So she got her fairytale dress after all,’ Annie said as I watched the girl cross the road. She was arranging the rest of the roses. ‘I just wish she had a fairytale man. But she seemed quite different today, didn’t she?’ Annie added as she put the vase on the counter. She went to the window and looked out. ‘She’s even walking taller – look.’ Her eyes narrowed as they tracked her down the street. ‘Vintage clothes can do that,’ she added after a moment. ‘They can be subtly … transforming.’
&n
bsp; ‘That’s true. But how weird that she refused the discount.’
‘I guess it was important to her that she’d paid for the dress herself, every penny. But I wonder what’s happened that she was able to buy it,’ Annie mused.
I shrugged. ‘Maybe Keith relented and gave her the cash.’
Annie shook her head. ‘He’d never have done that. Perhaps she stole the money from him,’ she suggested. I had a sudden vision of the girl wearing the dress behind bars. ‘Perhaps a friend lent it to her.’
‘Who knows?’ I said as I went back to the counter. ‘I’m just glad she’s got it, even if we’ll never know how she came by it.’
Annie was still staring out of the window. ‘Maybe we will.’
I told Dan about the incident when I met him at the cinema on Wednesday. I’d decided that it would be a good talking point in case conversation flagged.
‘She was buying one of those fifties prom dresses,’ I explained as we sat in the bar before the film started.
‘I know the ones – you called them “cupcake” dresses.’
‘That’s right. And I offered her the five per cent discount but she said she didn’t want it.’
Dan sipped his Peroni. ‘How weird.’
‘It was more than weird – it was mad. How many women would turn down the chance to have £15 knocked off the price of something? But this girl insisted on paying the full £275.’
‘Did you say £275?’ Dan echoed. As I explained the background to the purchase, something seemed to be puzzling Dan.
‘Are you okay?’ I said.
‘What? Oh yes, sorry …’ He snapped out of it. ‘I’m just a bit distracted at the moment – I’ve got a lot on at work. Anyway.’ He stood up. ‘The film’s about to begin. Would you like another drink? We can take them in.’
‘Another glass of red wine would be great.’
As Dan went up to the bar I reflected on the start to the evening. As I’d arrived at the cinema at seven Dan had phoned me to say that he’d be a bit late; so I’d sat upstairs on one of the sofas enjoying the view of Greenwich through the panoramic windows. Then I’d glanced at a newspaper that someone had left behind. At the back was a full-page ad for World of Sheds. As I’d looked at it, I’d idly wondered what Dan’s fabled shed was like. Was it a ‘Tiger Shiplap Apex’, I wondered, or a ‘Walton’s Premium Overlap’ with double doors, or a ‘Norfolk Apex Xtra’ or a ‘Tiger Mini-barn’? And I was just wondering if it might be a ‘Titanium Wonder’ metal-sided shed offering ‘excellent functionality’ when Dan had arrived, at a run.
He’d sunk down next to me, then picked up my left hand and swiftly lifted it to his lips before returning it to my lap.
I looked at him. ‘Do you usually do that to women you’ve only met twice?’
‘No,’ he replied. ‘Just to you. Sorry I’m a bit late,’ he went on as I struggled to recover my composure. ‘But I was busy on a story …’
‘The one about the Age Exchange?’
‘No, that’s all done. This was a … business piece,’ he explained, slightly evasively. ‘Matt’s writing it, but I’m … involved. There were a few difficulties which we had to get sorted out – and now we have done. Right.’ He clapped his hands. ‘Let me get you a drink. What’s it going to be? Don’t tell me – “Gimme a visky,”’ he said huskily. ‘“Ginger ale on the side – and don’t be stinchy, baby.”’
‘Sorry?’
‘Garbo’s first ever on-screen words. Until then all her films had been silent. Luckily her voice matched her face – but what would you like?’
‘Definitely not “visky” – but a glass of red wine would be nice.’
Dan picked up the bar card. ‘The choice is Merlot – the Le Carredon from the Pays d’Oc, which is apparently “soft, rounded and easy drinking with a full body” – or the Châteauneuf-du-Pape, Chante le Merle, which has a “terrific nose of red berries and a seductive bouquet …” So what’s it to be?’
I thought of my trip to Provence. ‘The Châteauneuf-du-Pape, please – I like the name.’
Now, half an hour on – the conversation having flowed – Dan was buying me another glass of the Chante le Merle, then we went downstairs to the screen, sank into the black leather chairs and gave ourselves up to Anna Karenina and to Garbo’s luminous beauty.
‘With Garbo it’s all about the face,’ Dan said afterwards as we walked out of the cinema. ‘Her body’s irrelevant – so is her acting, even though she was a great actress. People only talk about Garbo’s face – that alabaster perfection.’
‘Her beauty’s almost a mask,’ I said. ‘She’s like a Sphinx.’
‘She is. She projects this remote, rather melancholy self-containment. You do that, too,’ he added casually. Once again Dan had taken me aback, but perhaps because of the wine, or the fact that I’d been enjoying his company and didn’t want to spoil the evening, I decided to let the remark go. ‘Let’s get something to eat,’ he was saying now. Without waiting for a reply he tucked his arm through mine. I didn’t mind his physical warmth. In fact I liked it, I realised. It made things … easy. ‘Is Café Rouge okay?’ I heard him ask. ‘I’m afraid it’s not quite the Rivington Grill.’
‘Café Rouge is fine …’ We went inside and found a corner table. ‘Why did Garbo retire so young?’ I asked him now as we waited for the waiter to take our order.
‘The story is that she was so upset by a bad review for her latest film, Two-Faced Woman, that she threw in the towel on the spot. The likelier explanation is that she knew that her beauty was at its peak and she didn’t want her image to be tarnished by time. Marilyn Monroe died at thirty-six,’ Dan went on. ‘Would we feel the same about her if she’d died at seventy-six? Garbo wanted to live – but not in public.’
‘You’re very knowledgeable.’
Dan unfurled his napkin. ‘I love film – especially black-and-white film.’
‘Is that because you have difficulty seeing colour?’
The waiter offered him a piece of bread. ‘No. It’s because there’s an essential mundanity to colour on screen because we see things in colour every day: with black and white there’s the inherent suggestion that it’s “art”.’
‘You’ve got paint on your hands,’ I said. ‘Have you been DIY-ing?’
Dan examined his fingers. ‘I did a bit more to the shed late last night – it’s just finishing touches now.’
‘But what’s in this mysterious shed of yours?’
‘You’ll see on October 11th when I have the official gala opening – invitations to follow shortly. You will come, won’t you?’
I thought of how much I’d enjoyed the evening. ‘Yes – I will. And what will the dress code be? Gardening clothes? Wellies?’
Dan looked affronted. ‘Smart casual.’
‘Not black tie then?’
‘That would be a bit OTT, though you can wear one of your grand vintage frocks if you like – in fact, you should wear that pale pink dress – the one that you said had belonged to you.’
I shook my head. ‘I definitely won’t be wearing that.’
‘I wonder why not?’ Dan mused.
‘I just … don’t like it.’
‘You know, you’re a bit of a Sphinx,’ Dan said. ‘An enigma, at least. And I think you’re struggling with something.’ He’d taken me aback again.
‘Yes,’ I said quietly. ‘I am. I’m struggling with the fact that you’re so… cheeky.’
‘Cheeky?’
I nodded. ‘You make very direct, if not downright personal remarks. You keep saying and doing things that completely… throw me. You’re always… what’s the word I’m looking for here?’
‘Spontaneous? I’m always spontaneous?’
‘No. You’re always discomfiting me … disconcerting me … Discombobulating me! That’s it – you’re always discombobulating me, Dan.’
He smiled. ‘I love the way you say “discombobulated” – could you say it again? It’s rather a wonderful word,’ he we
nt on. ‘We don’t hear it often enough. Dis-com-bob-u-late,’ he added happily.
I rolled my eyes. ‘Now you’re trying to … annoy me.’
‘Sorry. Perhaps it’s because you’re so cool and restrained. I really like you, Phoebe, but occasionally I get the urge to … I don’t know … wreck your poise a little.’
‘Oh. I see. Well, you haven’t wrecked it. I’m still very … poised. So, what about you, Dan?’ I went on, determined to wrest control of the conversation. ‘You know quite a bit about me – you’ve interviewed me, after all. But I know very little about you –’
‘Except that I’m cheeky.’
‘Extremely.’ I smiled then felt myself relax again. ‘So why don’t you tell me something about yourself.’
Dan shrugged. ‘Okay – well, I grew up in Kent, near Ashford. My father was a GP; my mother was a teacher – now both retired. I think the most interesting thing about us as a family was that we had a Jack Russell, Percy, who lived to eighteen, which in human years was one hundred and twenty-six. I went to the local boys’ grammar, then to York to read history. Then followed my glorious decade in direct marketing, and now my work with the Black & Green. No marriages, no children, a few relationships, the last of which ended three months ago without acrimony. Bingo – my potted history.’
‘And are you enjoying working for the paper?’ I asked him, calm again now.
‘It’s an adventure; but it’s not what I want to do long term.’ And before I could ask Dan what he did want to do long term, he’d already moved the conversation on. ‘Okay, so we’ve just seen Anna Karenina. On Friday, as part of the same season, they’re showing a new print of Dr Zhivago – would you like to come?’
I looked at Dan. ‘I would have done actually – but I can’t.’
‘Oh,’ Dan said. ‘Why not?’
‘Why not?’ I repeated. ‘Dan – you’re doing it again.’
‘Discombobulating you?’
‘Yes. Because … Look … I don’t have to tell you why I can’t come.’