There was a short pause and then he asked, ‘Louise – have you seen last week’s edition of The Stage?’
‘No, why?’ My stomach lurched. What did he know that I didn’t?
‘It was Mum who spotted it,’ he said. ‘She’s so proud of you, our mum. She bought the magazine to see if there was anything in it about you. Imagine how upset she was when she saw an article with the headline: The Show That Never Was. She’s really upset for you, Louise.’
My blood ran cold. I’d no idea that the news was buzzing around the business already, but at least it was only the trade paper. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I bluffed.
‘Oh, I think you do,’ he said softly. ‘I bet your family in Bridgehampton are pissed off for you. Or maybe you ain’t broke the news to them yet, eh?’
I caught my breath. ‘Look, just leave my family out of it,’ I said. ‘If you were thinking of blackmailing me, forget it. I’ve got no money left, and after tomorrow I won’t be here so don’t bother trying to ring again.’
I cut him off before he could reply and switched off my phone. Something about that voice of his chilled me to the marrow. Maybe I should buy another mobile and throw this one away. I only hoped I’d be able to persuade Di to take pity on me tomorrow. I looked at the remains of my meal, congealing in its plastic tray, and tossed it into the bin, my stomach churning. For the second night I hardly slept, tossing and turning as I tried to think of ways to stop the man who called himself my ‘brother’ from persecuting me.
The bridal boutique was called Camilla and I soon discovered that it was the name of the boutique owner and designer. I arrived bright and early and she looked me up and down.
‘It’s a nice suit,’ she said.
I nodded. ‘It’s Chanel.’
‘Mmm.’ She pursed her lips. ‘The best thing about Chanel is that their suits keep their shape – however old they are.’
That was me told! She showed me around, drawing back the velvet curtains on the rails. The gowns were beautiful but some of the price tags took my breath away – anything from a ‘humble’ two grand as she put it, to over £5,000. Camilla, as she asked me to call her, caught my expression and smiled.
‘You get what you pay for, I always say,’ she said smoothly. ‘All the highest-priced dresses are unique – one-off, so the bride who wears them can be sure that no one else can upstage her.’ She fingered the material. ‘Nothing but the best fabrics, French lace and silk from manufacturers in Belgium where I have a standing order. Here, feel for yourself.’
I touched the material reverently, feeling that it might mark if I as much as looked at it. ‘It’s lovely,’ I said. ‘And you design them all yourself?’
‘All the best ones, yes. In my studio upstairs.’
‘And do you do the actual sewing?’
‘No. I have four expert out-workers,’ she told me. ‘And two embroiderers, one of them a young man.’ She turned away. ‘Follow me and I’ll show you the staffroom where you can take your breaks.’
After the showroom and the luxurious fitting rooms with their mirror-lined walls and little gilt chairs, I was surprised at the so-called staffroom. It consisted of a sink unit with a kettle and toaster, a Formica-topped table and two wooden chairs. The floor was covered in cracked vinyl. I looked at her. ‘Isn’t there a microwave?’
She looked down her nose. ‘No. If you want a hot lunch, you could always go out. I’m told there’s a McDonald’s in one of the side streets. Personally, I like to watch my figure.’
My first customer arrived when Camilla had popped out to the bank. A very pretty young girl and her mother stood looking around them self-consciously as I approached.
‘Good morning. Can I help you?’
The mother spoke first. ‘We’re looking for a wedding dress,’ she said.
‘I love the one in the window,’ the girl said. ‘But there isn’t a price tag on it and we …’ She looked at her mother uncertainly and I guessed that Camilla’s prices were going to frighten the pants off them.
‘That one is very expensive,’ I told them. ‘Camilla herself designs all the expensive dresses and they cost a lot because they are unique. Would you like to try something on?’
The young girl’s cheeks flushed. ‘Oh, could I?’
‘How much is the one in the window?’ the mother insisted. She cast a warning glance in her daughter’s direction. ‘Before we get too carried away.’
‘I’ll just check.’ I drew aside the curtain at the back of the window and peered at the price label, concealed inside the back of the neck. Holding my breath, I stepped out again and turned to look at them. ‘It’s £3,500,’ I told them. ‘But of course, as I said, it is …’
‘I think we’ll leave it, thank you.’ The mother grasped her daughter’s arm and began to hustle her towards the door.
‘That is one of our most expensive dresses,’ I said quickly. ‘We do have some lower-priced gowns, if you’d like to come this way.’
At the back of the showroom were two rails of what Camilla called ‘budget dresses’. I drew one or two out and the faces of mother and daughter relaxed a little. The girl picked out a couple to try on and eventually chose one. As I packed it carefully in tissue paper and one of the distinctive black and pink Camilla boxes, I was thrilled to think I’d made a sale and when Camilla returned, I couldn’t wait to tell her. She looked pleased until I told her which dress it was.
‘I told you to push the designer gowns,’ she said, looking cross.
‘I did but they were obviously out of their price range.’
‘What does that matter? You’ll find that if you push in the right way they usually give in. After all, they can always economize on something else.’
‘How do you mean, push in the right way?’
Camilla sighed. ‘Flatter them, of course. Tell them the dress was made for them – that they have the perfect figure for it. Point out that they’ll regret it for the rest of their lives if they don’t get the very best – that sort of thing.’ She glared at me. ‘Use your two and a half brain cells for once, dear!’
I opened my mouth to give her both barrels but I bit my tongue just in time. For two pins, I could have walked out there and then but like it or not I needed this job and after all, she was paying me what I asked. But as she turned away, I promised myself that the minute one of the agents I’d contacted came up with a half-decent job, I’d be out of here in a flash.
As the day went by and more customers came in, I observed Camilla’s sales technique. She really did go over the top with her flattery and oiliness. The amazing thing was that it seemed to work. I wondered how much mark-up there was on a dress designed by her and reckoned it couldn’t be far off eighty per cent. No wonder she pushed so hard. After each sale she was impossible; so conceited and overconfident that I longed to bring her down a peg.
Di had only just got in from work when I arrived at the flat. She looked tired and took a bottle of wine out of the fridge and poured us both a glass. I’d had nothing to eat since breakfast and I secretly hoped she’d ask me to stay for supper.
‘So …’ she said as she handed me my glass. ‘Tell me your news. What’s this West End job you’ve landed?’
‘Not what you think.’ Perched on one of her kitchen stools at the breakfast bar, I told her about Paul Fortune’s treachery. I went on to describe my first day as sales assistant at Camilla’s. As the wine relaxed me I found myself camping it up a bit – imitating Camilla’s voice and mannerisms – and soon Di was in fits of laughter.
‘Oh, Lou, you are priceless,’ she said. ‘I’d love to have been a fly on the wall. Looks as if you’ve met your match in the formidable Camilla.’
I wasn’t sure what she meant by that. Somehow it didn’t feel like a compliment, but I decided to let it go. ‘Look, Di, I might as well cut to the chase and tell you why I’m here,’ I said. ‘I’ve got this horrific bedsit in Stoke Newington. It takes ages to get up to the West End in the r
ush hour and I wondered …’
‘If I could put you up,’ she finished for me.
‘It would only be temporary,’ I assured her. ‘I’m expecting an offer from my new agent any day now.’
‘Your new agent? What about Harry Clay?’
‘He’s decided to retire,’ I told her. ‘He put money into the show too and it’s just about finished him. Of course, if Mike isn’t happy with the situation, I’d look elsewhere. I don’t want to ruin your relationship.’
‘Mike and I aren’t together any more,’ Di said.
I’d suspected as much but I feigned surprise. ‘Oh, Di – I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘I found out that he was only using me and my flat as a stop-gap until he found somewhere else to live,’ she said with more than a hint of bitterness. ‘Plus the fact that he met someone else.’ She shook her head. ‘I won’t go into details but it wasn’t the happiest of partings. It’ll be a long time before I trust another man!’
‘Well – I know the feeling.’ I left a respectful gap in the conversation then I said tentatively, ‘Does that mean you’d be willing to put up with me for a week or two?’
She sighed. ‘OK, I suppose so, as long as you pay your way, Lou. I can’t afford to let you stay rent free.’
‘Of course, I wouldn’t dream of putting on you.’
‘And as long as you try to keep the place tidy,’ she went on. ‘No dirty laundry hanging around the place. And you take your turns with the shopping and the chores.’
‘But of course.’ I frowned. ‘Didn’t I always?’
‘Not always, no.’
‘You make me sound like a slut.’
‘Precisely,’ she said, looking me straight in the eye.
For a moment we stared at each other, then we both burst out laughing.
‘Oh, Lou,’ Di said at last. ‘Slut or no slut, it’s good to have you back again.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘You know, from what you’ve told me about this Paul Fortune crook, I’m surprised you haven’t thought of selling your story to one of the tabloids.’
Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. What a brilliant idea! Why hadn’t I thought of that? But had the thought crossed the minds of any of the other members of the cast? Had I missed the boat? It was certainly worth finding out.
‘Dianne,’ I said. ‘You are a genius!’
Using Di’s computer and at her suggestion, I emailed three of the most popular tabloids there and then while she rustled up a quick supper.
‘I’ll text you if there are any replies,’ she promised. We arranged that I’d move in with all my worldly goods the following week and by the time I got back to the bedsit that night I was feeling a lot more optimistic.
It was a couple of days later at Camilla’s that it happened. It was halfway through the morning and business had been slow. I was in the grotty little staffroom making coffee when I heard the shop doorbell chime out its naff ringtone. Camilla rushed into the showroom like she had a wasp in her knickers.
‘Good morning. Welcome to Camilla’s. How can I help you?’
Hearing her dulcet Estuary English tones, I peeked through the curtain and got the shock of my life. There in the centre of the shop was Cathy, Mark’s stroppy sister. She wasn’t alone though, the woman she had with her was about thirty, very pretty and quite well dressed. I eavesdropped shamelessly. Cathy’s friend was getting married and wanted a wedding dress immediately.
‘My fiancé wants us to be married as quickly as possible,’ she explained. ‘He’s given me carte blanche on the dress and I want to look spectacular.’
‘I’m sure you’d look that, dear, even without the help of one of my creations,’ Camilla oiled. She must be feeling as though all her birthdays had come at once as she reached for her most expensive creations.
‘This would be perfect for you,’ she simpered. ‘This style is just right for your lovely figure.’ I turned back to my coffee, a wave of nausea washing over me, then I heard something that stopped the breath in my throat and I almost choked as Cathy said, ‘Oh, yes. Do try it on, Franny. I’m sure you’ll look lovely in it.’
Franny! Surely that was short for Frances – Mark’s ex? Was he going to marry this girl he’d been engaged to after all? My first thought was that he must be on the rebound. Then another thought occurred to me: had I been the one on the rebound after her? Had he never really loved me? Had I lost him for good? I held my breath as Franny disappeared into one of the changing rooms, hoping against hope that the dress wouldn’t require any alterations. If it did, Camilla would be sure to ask me to help her with the pinning. The thought of facing Cathy made my stomach churn. I couldn’t bear the thought of her taking the news of my humiliation triumphantly back to Mark, and them laughing about it together.
Luckily, the dress fitted perfectly and Franny decided to buy it. She paid the exorbitant sum with her credit card and she and Cathy went off together in high spirits, chattering away excitedly. Camilla came back into the staffroom, flushed with the pleasure of success, only to glower at me as she tasted her coffee.
‘Stone cold!’ she pushed the cup at me. ‘Make me another. And please do not peep round the curtain in that vulgar way. Don’t think I didn’t see you. If you want to learn how to conduct yourself, just come into the shop and help me as any sensible person would do.’
‘I was on my break,’ I pointed out to her.
‘Business comes before breaks in my establishment, as you’ll soon learn,’ she said.
Who the hell did she think she was, speaking to me like that? I was a mature woman, not some spotty teenager. I longed to pour the cooling coffee over her elegant coiffeur but I controlled myself. My turn would come, I promised myself with gritted teeth. At the first sniff of a job, I’d be out of here like a rat up a drainpipe.
Whilst Camilla was out at lunch, I switched on my phone. There were three missed texts from Di. I went into ‘messages’ and read them. They all said the same.
Editor of the Daily Sphere wants you to get in touch ASAP. Good luck, Di. A phone number followed.
Praying that no customers would come in, I tapped in the number and waited with bated breath, hoping he wasn’t out at lunch. His secretary put me through at once. Yes, he’d heard rumours about Paul Fortune’s scam, and yes, he was certainly interested in my story. I tentatively asked what the paper would pay, pointing out that I’d lost my entire savings. He was sympathetic. Could I go in and talk about it?
Yes, I could!
This afternoon?
That threw me for a moment. Camilla would never agree to letting me have the afternoon off so I’d have to wangle something. One thing was for sure – I wasn’t going to pass up a chance like this, whatever it took.
‘Is that a problem for you?’ he asked.
‘No! Not at all,’ I assured him. ‘Just say a time and I’ll be there.’
The meeting was scheduled for four o’clock so I was going to have to think quickly. As it happened the fates were with me. The answer dropped into my lap minutes before Camilla returned from lunch and I saw at once that this was my chance. Two people came into the shop, one young, the other, I guessed, around fifty-something. Mother and daughter, I guessed, but it soon emerged that the customer was not the daughter but the mother.
‘I’m getting married for the second time,’ she simpered. ‘My first wedding was a rushed affair in a register office so I want this one to make up for what I missed the first time round. I’m planning the full works.’
I looked at her. She was short and on the tubby side, with a figure that I guessed owed much to pies and cakes. She wore too much badly applied make-up and her hair was an unlikely auburn with magenta highlights. I drew out one of Camilla’s most expensive gowns.
‘Oh, that’s lovely but it’s a bit plain and …’ She took one look at the price tag and gasped.
‘Good God! I wasn’t thinking of paying that kind of money,’ she said. I saw the daughter flinch.
‘Mum – you wouldn
’t wear a dress like that anyway, would you?’
The mother bridled. ‘Why not?’
‘Isn’t it a bit – well – young?’
‘Everyone says I look years younger than I am!’
‘We do have a budget range,’ I put in. ‘Shall we see if there’s anything there that you’d like?’
She cheered up at once – just as Camilla walked in. Seeing that I had a customer, she went to the back of the shop and disappeared into the staffroom, where I guessed she had her ear to the gap in the curtain, if not her eye. In the rail of budget dresses was one particularly hideous dress. I’d spotted it on my first day and asked Camilla about it. She told me it had been foisted on her by a sales rep. In return for taking it off his hands, he’d given her a good deal on six other dresses. It was a gypsy-style gown in fuchsia pink with a ruched skirt and the lowest neckline I’d ever seen. It was generously decorated with black lace and diamante and as I’d guessed she would, the woman fell in love with it on sight.
‘Oh! I do like that!’
I saw her daughter wince but ignored it. Adopting my best Camilla manner I went into my act. ‘This would look perfect on you,’ I gushed. ‘You have just the right figure for it. When your groom turns and sees you coming down the aisle in this, he’s going to go weak at the knees.’
‘He’s eighty so he’s weak at the knees already,’ the daughter muttered. I tried hard not to laugh.
‘Try it on,’ I invited. ‘And just you see if I’m not right.’
The woman emerged a few minutes later, flushed with delight. The dress was too tight for her. She’d obviously had trouble with the zip and her bosom was spilling over in the most alarming way, but at least she had it on. She looked at herself in one of the full-length mirrors, smiling as she turned this way and that. ‘Ooh, I have to have this,’ she said. Once again the daughter winced.
Casting me an apologetic look she said, ‘Mum! You look like something out of a pantomime.’
Her mother rounded on her. ‘Shut up, Norma! You’ve got no fashion sense and anyway, you’re just jealous!’ She turned to me. ‘Every bloke she gets dumps her after a fortnight,’ she said nastily. The daughter flounced out of the shop. I could almost feel Camilla’s eyes burning into the back of my neck and a few moments later, she emerged from the staffroom, a false smile plastered onto her face.
Give Me Tomorrow Page 17