Save the Last Dance

by Fiona Harper

  Coreen grinned and clapped her on the back. ‘That’s the spirit! But you can’t daydream about every piece you hang up, you know.’ She took the skirt from Alice and slung it on a hanger. ‘And it’s a good idea not to fall too much in love with the stock. Yes, it’s fabulous, but when someone comes and pays cold hard cash for it I’ll be waving each piece bye-bye with a smile on my face.’

  Alice nodded. She knew Coreen was right. This was a business—a business she was on the verge of buying into. But falling in love with the clothes was what it was all about, surely? It couldn’t hurt to just…flirt with them a little, could it?

  ‘We’ve got a business to run,’ Coreen said, her eyes narrowing slightly.

  Alice shrugged. ‘Technically—until we get the money together for a lease on a shop—you’ve got a business to run. Until then I’m not your partner. I’m just moonlighting from my “proper” job, as my dad calls it.’

  Coreen made a dismissive little snort and Alice smiled. That was what she loved about her one-of-a-kind friend. Only Coreen would consider hauling second-hand clothes around the markets of south-east London a proper job, and Alice’s home-grown IT consultancy a waste of time.

  Actually, Alice’s ‘proper’ job was coming in rather handy at present. Not only was she able to set her own hours, leaving her free to help Coreen out and learn the vintage clothing business, but some of the small companies she did computer troubleshooting for paid her nicely for being at their beck and call. All her spare cash was going into the start-up fund for their dream—Coreen’s Closet in bricks and mortar, with a stockroom and a small office. A place where Gladys and Glynis, the two battered mannequins that Coreen had rescued from a skip, could stand in the warm and dry, safe from the danger of being toppled by blustery autumn winds.

  At that moment, another gust blew through the market. Although they were in a courtyard with a corrugated roof, surrounded by small shops, Greenwich market was basically an open-air affair, and the wind still whistled through the access alleyways and pillared entrances. Alice pulled her scarf tighter around her neck, and Coreen pulled her coat around her and stamped her feet. Braving the elements was part of the life of a market trader, even if you dealt in old furs and satins, so all in all it was a very ordinary day—and Alice was totally unprepared for what happened next.

  Coreen had been to an estate clearance the day before, and had brought back some truly amazing pieces, obviously hoarded by a woman whose children didn’t see the designer labels she’d tucked away in the back of her wardrobe as a useful part of their legacy. Some people were like that. They could only think of vintage fashion as wearing other people’s clothes, and would never see the inherent beauty of the pieces they were on the verge of throwing away or cutting up for rags.

  The satin cocktail dress and the velvet skirt were only part of that haul. Alice carefully lifted a peacock-blue taffeta evening cape out of the box, and when she saw what was underneath it she froze. There they were, just sitting there—the perfect pair of shoes.

  She’d been on a steep learning curve about the history of fashion since she’d first met Coreen, but she knew enough to date this pair of evening sandals somewhere in the early fifties. They were the softest black suede and hardly worn. They were elegant, plain—apart from a small diamanté buckle on one side—with a slingback strap. But it was the heels that made the shoes unique. They were totally transparent. Not dull, cheap plastic, though. They were hard and solid, and reflected the light like glass.

  Alice hardly dared touch them, they were so beautiful, but she picked one up gingerly and showed it to Coreen.

  Her friend nodded in agreement. ‘Fabulous, aren’t they? I swear, if I was a smaller size, I’d have swiped them for myself.’

  Alice peeked at the label. ‘But they say they’re a five and a half—you’re only a smidge bigger than that. Are you sure you don’t want them?’

  Coreen shook her head. ‘American sizing. That’s a size four to you and me.’

  Size four? Really?

  That was it, then. This was destiny.

  They were the sort of thing a twenty-eight-year-old should be wearing on a regular basis—not canvas sneakers and the big, clumpy things that made Coreen tut.

  ‘They’re mine,’ she whispered.

  Coreen was looking at her again, this time with an understanding light in her eyes.

  ‘How much?’ Alice asked.

  The ponytail bounced violently as Coreen shook her head. ‘I only paid fifty quid for the whole box, and I can sell the rest of the contents for five times that. You have them.’

  ‘Really?’

  Coreen winked. ‘Really. I know that look. That’s the look of a girl who’s fallen completely in love and is never going to fall out again. Go on—try them on.’

  Even though the stall was only half set up, Alice couldn’t wait. She sat on the collapsible chair behind the main table and pulled off her ratty old trainers and thick woolly socks. She didn’t even notice the cold on her toes as she took a deep breath and slid her foot into the right shoe, praying fervently that Coreen was correct about the sizing.

  Oh, my.

  Her first instinct had been right. They were perfect. The shoe moulded to her foot as if it’d been crafted especially for her, and when she slipped the other one on and pulled up the legs of her jeans to get a better look, she gasped. Somehow the shoes made her skinny little ankles and feet look all curvy and shapely and sexy.

  She looked up at Coreen. ‘The heels? What are they made of?’

  Coreen bent forward as Alice twisted her foot to give her a better look. ‘Lucite. It’s a type of perspex. Really fashionable in the fifties—and not just for shoes. I think I might have a pair of gold-coloured Lucite earrings in my treasure trove.’ She indicated the glass-topped wooden display box full of costume jewellery on the other end of the stall. ‘But the things to look out for are the handbags.’

  ‘Handbags?’ Alice looked shocked. ‘Made out of this stuff?’

  Coreen nodded. ‘Cute little boxy things with hinged handles. They come in all shapes and colours and they are really collectible—mainly because a lot of them haven’t survived undamaged. In good condition, they can go for hundreds of pounds.’

  ‘Wow!’

  ‘Yes, so keep your eyes peeled.’

  Coreen went back to setting up the stall, and Alice looked down at her feet and twisted her ankles this way and that. She wasn’t a girly girl, and she didn’t normally get excited about something as frivolous as shoes, but it was almost a wrench to slip her feet out of the sandals and return them to her hiking socks and trainers.

  ‘That settles it, then,’ Coreen said, bustling Alice to her feet and snatching the shoes away so she could pack them up in a box. ‘They’re yours.’

  Cameron Hunter stood facing the plate glass window that filled one side of his office. From seven hundred feet above sea level, this was one of the most spectacular views in London. It was as if the whole city had prostrated itself at his feet.

  Although the day had started crisp and bright, pollution had turned the autumn sky hazy, and now the cityscape below was all pale colours, smudged greys and browns. He stared at the silvery water glinting in the docks below.

  He should feel like a king.

  Most days he did. Head of his own software company before the age of thirty-five. A company he’d started with nothing but a loan he couldn’t afford and an idea that had woken him up in the middle of the night.

  And now look at him. This building in the heart of Canary Wharf—and his office within it—could be seen all over London. Further, even. Now every day in the south London suburb where he’d grown up the boys who’d bullied him, the ones who’d taunted him mercilessly, could see the proof of how spectacularly they’d been wrong about him when they walked down the street.

  Even better, when they got to work and switched on their computers, it was probably his innovative software they were running. Not that he’d leased these off
ices because of that—it had just been a pleasing perk. When Orion Solutions had first moved in here he’d smiled every time he’d glanced out of the window.

  But now…Sometimes he felt…

  He shook his head. This was nonsense.

  The intercom on his desk crackled.

  ‘Mr Hunter?’

  He didn’t move, not even to twist in the direction of the speaker. His eyes were fixed on a blue patch of sky on the horizon.

  ‘Yes?’ He didn’t speak loudly. He never spoke loudly. Somehow there was something in the timbre of his voice that just carried. He had no doubt that Stephanie heard every syllable.

  ‘I know you asked not to be disturbed, Mr Hunter, but something urgent has come up.’

  Now he turned and stared at the speaker. ‘Come and fill me in.’

  He stayed where he was and transferred his gaze to the door. He was not a man accustomed to being kept waiting. Not that he was impatient—far from it—but when you were Cameron Hunter people tended to ask how high it would be convenient for them to jump before he’d even thought of demanding anything of the sort.

  There was a timid knock at the door and Stephanie peered round it. He motioned for her to come inside, and she stopped as close to the threshold as she could without actually being outside the room. He’d been having trouble finding a new PA since Aimee had left to have babies and devote herself to fulltime mothering. He’d offered to double Aimee’s salary if she’d stay. He needed her organisational skills here at Orion. But she’d turned him down, damn her.

  Aimee wouldn’t have crept into the office as if she was scared of him. But Stephanie, just like her three predecessors, jumped every time he spoke. He didn’t mind the fact that his staff respected him—were in awe of him, even. In fact it had been something he’d cultivated when his business had grown beyond a handful of employees. It didn’t bother him that people thought him remote. He wasn’t the kind of boss who chatted about pets and children, and people didn’t expect that of him. They expected him to be in charge, to keep their wages and bonuses coming. His staff knew he was dedicated to them and the company, that he was hard-working and that he rewarded loyalty richly. That should be enough. His personal life was out of bounds. He respected his staff enough not to pry into their business, and they in turn afforded him the same courtesy.

  Stephanie clasped her hands together in front of her, looking as if she’d really like to bolt but was attempting to anchor herself. Cameron sighed inwardly.

  ‘The Japanese party have rung ahead to say they’ve been delayed at the airport. They’ve asked if we could push the meeting back to three o’clock.’

  He nodded. ‘Fine. Make the arrangements, would you?’

  She gave a hasty nod and sidled round the half-open door.

  He walked back to his desk. Before he sat down, he ran his fingertips over the flat, square and now empty jewellery box sitting next to the phone. Until very recently there’d been at least one woman in his life who hadn’t quivered with fear when he’d walked into the room. Far from it.

  Jessica Fernly-Jones. High society darling and professional butterfly.

  She was the woman every red-blooded male in London was dying to have on his arm. And for a while she’d been his. His triumph, his coup.

  She’d made him dance through hoops before she’d consented to date him regularly. Not that he’d cared. It had all been part of the game—part of the sacrifice to win the prize. And there was always a sacrifice if something was worth having. When she’d finally relented and agreed to go out to dinner with him, he’d relished the looks of envy and awe on other men’s faces as he’d walked through the restaurant with her. It had been even better than when he’d dated a supermodel.

  But after two months the hoop-jumping and game-playing hadn’t relented, as he’d expected. And he’d started to wonder whether one woman really was worth all the aggravation.

  His answer had come the night he’d given her the jewellery box. Lesser women would have squealed and gone all dewy-eyed when they saw the logo of a rather exclusive jewellers on the box. But, give Jessica credit, she’d merely raised an eyebrow and given him a sexy smile. A smile that said she’d knew she’d deserved it, that she was worth every carat the box contained—probably more.

  She’d prised open the lid and her eyes had roved the contents of the box.

  It had been a diamond pendant. Simple. Elegant. Outrageously expensive.

  A small pout had squeezed Jessica’s lips together. ‘It’s lovely, Cameron,’ she’d said. ‘But don’t you remember? It was the pink diamond I wanted—not a boring old white one. You will be a darling about this, won’t you?’

  At that moment Cameron had known suddenly and unequivocally that he wouldn’t be a darling about anything for Jessica any more. Still, there had been no need to make a scene. They’d gone out to dinner, and he’d explained it all quite carefully before Jessica had flounced off.

  Now he had his own little empire he supposed he would need a woman to stand by his side, someone to share all this bounty with. On the climb up he’d always imagined she’d be someone exactly like Jessica. Now, though…

  Instead of sitting down he turned round and walked back to the window.

  The view was starting to bore him. Just as well he’d be changing it soon.

  ‘Alice? Alice Morton?’

  Alice’s hand closed around a pound coin in her money belt. She hadn’t heard that voice in years. She looked up to find a stylishly dressed woman with a wavy blonde bob smiling at her.

  ‘Jennie? I can’t believe it!’

  It looked as if Jennie’s trademark stripy legwarmers of a decade ago had finally been declared a fashion no-no, because the woman in front of her oozed sophistication. However, there was no mistaking Jennie’s bright smile and the aura of excitement she carried with her wherever she went. In a flash Alice had scooted round the velvet-draped stall and the two women launched themselves into a rib-crushing hug.

  A polite cough from Alice’s left reminded her of what she’d been doing just seconds before Jennie had arrived. She handed the customer she’d been serving her change.

  ‘I’m so sorry! Here you go.’

  The woman shrugged and wandered off, with a genuine ‘Choose Life’ T-shirt in her shopping bag.

  Coreen braced her hands on the stall and leaned forward, her eyes practically out on stalks. ‘Who’s this? Long-lost sister?’

  ‘Almost,’ Jennie said, as she and Alice smiled at each other. ‘I was engaged to Alice’s brother for a couple of years. The fact I didn’t get to be Alice’s sister-in-law was the thing that made me the saddest when we broke up,’ she said.

  ‘Anyway, what are you doing selling vintage lace and platform shoes? The last I heard your IT consultancy was just getting off the ground.’

  ‘Oh, I’m still doing that. It helps pay the bills. In fact, that’s how I met Coreen…’ She paused briefly to introduce the two women properly. ‘When Coreen started selling her stock online a few years ago, she decided to upgrade her system. I sorted her out with what she needed.’

  ‘That doesn’t explain how you’ve ended up selling Wham! T-shirts on a chilly Thursday morning rather than hooking up cables to PCs,’ Jennie said to Alice.

  Just at that moment another customer walked up and asked Coreen something in-depth about alligator handbags. As she talked to the woman, Coreen made shooing motions with her hands. Bless Coreen! Alice mouthed her a silent thank-you and guided Jennie away from the stall, so they could walk and talk, browsing the clothing and arts and crafts stalls and catching up on over ten years’ worth of gossip. She filled Jennie in on what the family were doing now, and she seemed genuinely interested in what Alice had been up to since she’d known her as a shy sixth-former. Alice gave her a potted history—there really wasn’t that much to tell—and finished up with how she’d fallen in love with vintage clothes herself after getting friendly with Coreen.

  ‘We’re saving hard so we can open up
our own vintage clothes boutique,’ she said as she finished off.

  Jennie smiled at her. ‘That’ll be just fabulous,’ she said, nodding her head, and then she pressed her lips together and looked skywards. ‘Tell you what, when you finally open your shop give me a call—I’ll organise a launch party that will put you firmly on the map.’

  ‘A party?’

  Jennie reached into a soft leather handbag the colour of clotted cream—the stitching on it was fantastic, and screamed quality. She pulled out an elegant business card and handed it to Alice.

  ‘You’re an event planner?’

  Alice couldn’t have thought up a better job for Jennie if she’d tried.

  Jennie nodded. ‘Isn’t it a scream? I get paid to have fun!’ She sighed. ‘Actually, sometimes the “planning” bit of event planning is a bit of a drag. That’s why I’m down here at the market this morning—hunting for inspiration.’ She gazed at a stall filled with home-knitted baby cardigans. ‘Did you ever meet my stepbrother?’

  Alice blinked. Okay—swift change of subject, but she could keep up. She’d heard a lot about the stepbrother during the years Jennie had gone out with Patrick, but he’d been away at university for much of the time they’d been together.

  ‘Tall?’ She resisted adding skinny, mainly because she hated being described that way herself. ‘With glasses?’

  Jennie laughed. ‘Yes! That was Cam back then. He hasn’t shrunk any, but he’s lost the specs.’

  A flood of memories entered Alice’s head and she smiled gently. She’d met Cam—Cameron—just once or twice, the most memorable occasion being at a Christmas do at Jennie’s parents’ house. She’d been living in fear that she’d get picked next for charades, and had sneaked into Jennie’s father’s study to hide. She’d almost jumped out of her skin when she’d found a tall, lanky young man sitting in an armchair with a book. He hadn’t said anything—just raised an eyebrow and nodded at the other chair.

  They’d spent a couple of hours like that, reading quietly, chatting occasionally, until Jennie had discovered them and dragged them out again to join the ‘fun’. They’d both pulled a face at the same time. Then he’d smiled at her, and she’d smiled back, and just like that they’d become co-conspirators.