Page 20 of The Wedding Dress Repair Shop
I so revelled in my part that, although I am sure they sat there emanating extreme disapproval, I was not aware of it until we were walking home together …
8
Dark Reflections
I spent most of Monday working on Mirrie’s Titania costume, finishing off the fiddly task of creating the neck ruff and bodice edging from lilac gauze, before I began sewing on the last of the pearl embellishments.
I came home late and tired, and opened the door to my flat with all the relief of a rabbit diving into its burrow.
But as I stepped into my tiny hall I was sure I caught a trace of an alien scent on the air … something musky and strangely unsettling.
Then I opened the door to my living room and the first thing I saw was a cellophane-wrapped bouquet of long-stemmed roses on the coffee table, so I assume Miss McNabb, the putative owner of Golightly, had taken the delivery and left them there – we had keys to each other’s flats.
That explained the lingering scent too, because my elderly but sprightly neighbour was prone to cruising the perfume aisles of the big stores, spraying herself lavishly with the testers and sometimes blagging free samples. She did usually tend to go for the more flowery end of the perfume ranges.
I dumped my big tapestry shoulder bag on the table next to the roses with a heavy thud – carrying around a pair of dressmaking shears in a leather holster and an extensive emergency sewing kit was an ingrained habit – and then, looking up, noticed that the dustsheet covering my wedding dress on the dummy in the corner wasn’t draped in the way I’d left it.
Miss McNabb must have been overcome with curiosity and had a peek! She was a retired university librarian, with an interest in history, so I’d shown her the dress in the early stages, but not since. I hadn’t actually seen her for ages, although that’s how it often is in flats: sometimes you seem to bump into your neighbours every day, and other times, you can go a couple of months without seeing them.
She did post cat-related messages under my door occasionally, and vice versa.
I sniffed the air and thought I could detect a trace of that odd scent in here, too, so I opened the windows and then picked up my bouquet of tall, straight and stiff roses, which looked entirely unnatural and had no scent at all. The wrapping bore the name of a florist near Marco’s house where I’d been with him when he was ordering flowers for Mummy, and there was a card in his writing attached, so he must have actually gone into the shop to order them, rather than just rung up.
The card said: ‘So sorry about the weekend, darling – make it up to you! All my love, Marco.’
‘You mean, all the love not devoted to yourself!’ I muttered sourly, but still, I felt slightly mollified.
He used to always buy me flowers but, thinking back, I now realized he hadn’t done so for a long, long time so I’m sure Honey was right and hehadbeen increasingly taking me forgranted. Perhaps my walking out on his party, and Wilfric’s evident admiration, had been a bit of a wake-up call.
I hoped so, because I could see now that the Marco of six years ago, who had persuaded me to go out with him, had been entirely different: happy to potter about junk shops with me on Sundays, go to small, untrendy restaurants, walk in the park … simple things.
Not that he’d ever entirely abandoned all his old friends, of course, but he didn’t usually inflict them on me. He’d been so cut up when Leo died, too, that I’d known he’d really cared about him, whatever Ivo thought.
I found a tall vase for the roses and shoved them into it, where they looked as interesting as cheap plastic ones: I likedrealflowers, natural and with their own scents, just as I liked what I hoped was the real Marco, under the surface of the present incarnation, and hoped he would reappear after the launch of what could well be the crucial play that would send his career to the top level.
I’d have to try and be patient and understanding, though patience in anything other than my work did not come easily to me. Still, I’dtry.
I knew the first full dress rehearsal was called for Thursday, hence the rush with the last-minute finishing touches to the remaining costumes. There was to be a photo-call the day before it for advance publicity shots in the theatre foyer, where already two large display boards showed photos of the original Regency costumes from the prints, with a bit about the Rosa-May Garland exhibition and how it had inspired the play.
I knew that even if I managed to get my half-day off this week, Marco would probably be too busy to see me, but it did occur to me that, since the Titania dress and the two floralcrowns would be finished by then, I could offer to deliver them to the theatre when I got off at lunchtime. They’d be sure to send me in a taxi, too.
That way, Imightget to see Marco – even have lunch with him – because, after all, he still had to eat!
I texted him thanks for the flowers and he replied that he was glad I liked them and, though he was sure he’d been so busy he’d been neglecting me lately, once the dress rehearsal and opening night had been successfully negotiated, he’d make it all up to me. That was reassuring.
I didn’t mention my plans for Wednesday, because I thought it would be a nice surprise if I just turned up with the dress and crowns. Then, if he really couldn’t do lunch, I could go to the V&A and catch up with George instead.
*
By late Wednesday morning, the Titania costume hung ready to go in a zipped plastic cover, and the fabric and jewelled flower crowns for the Fairy King and Queen were carefully packed into a hatbox.
My offer to deliver everything to the Cockleshell Theatre, before taking my afternoon off, had been well received and I was dispatched with my precious cargo in a taxi.
I directed it to the stage door and went straight in, the zippered dress bag draped over my shoulder and the strap of the hatbox in one hand.
I said hello to the elderly doorkeeper, who I knew vaguely by sight, and who was, as usual, in his warm and fuggy little cubbyhole just inside the stage door.
‘The last of the costumes for the new play,’ I told him. ‘I’ll just go through, shall I?’
