‘It’s such lovely hair. The colour…’ Charles murmured thoughtfully, and then he caught the end of Sophy’s ponytail so he could gaze at the ends of her hair. God, she really needed a trim. ‘You couldn’t even bottle this colour. It’s extraordinary.’
‘Ginger,’ Sophy said, though if anyone ever dared to call her a ginger, she’d snap that she was a redhead.
‘Nothing that prosaic,’ Charles said, and she couldn’t open the car door when he was holding her ponytail hostage, but then he freed her, only to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and the tingles started all over again.
‘It’s just as well you’re gay, Charles, otherwise I’d totally be falling in love with you,’ Sophy blurted out. ‘Head over bloody heels.’
‘Gay?’
‘Yes, gay. Or do you prefer to identify as LGBTQ or just simply queer? Though my cousin Shay identifies as non-bin—’
‘But I’m not gay,’ Charles said, with a frown, so Sophy was suddenly quite sure she knew what he was thinking and it wasn’t anything good.
‘Oh God, I’m so sorry…’
‘Please don’t mention it.’
Was that don’t mention it as in it was no big deal? Or was it don’t mention it as in never, ever talk to me again?
‘I really have to go,’ Sophy said a little desperately because she felt…She didn’t even know how she felt. Embarrassed. Idiotic. Ashamed. Definitely not all that drunk any more. ‘Look, shall we just cancel Wednesday?’
‘Absolutely not. I’m looking forward to Wednesday,’ Charles confirmed, but he was still frowning.
Sophy clambered into the car, with very little grace and cheeks on fire. Charles was still standing there with a considered look on his face as Iban pulled away from the kerb and asked her if she’d had a good night.
Sophy put hot hands on her burning cheeks. ‘It was bloody awful, but thanks for asking.’
Chapter Eight
Cress started work at The Vintage Dress Shop on the Monday. Right away, Sophy’s suspicions were confirmed that her stepsister wasn’t going to be the backup that she had hoped for.
They’d met at Chalk Farm station so they could walk to the shop together. Cress had had a light in her eyes and a spring in her step that she hadn’t had for a while.
‘After all those years of handling ecclesiastical bits and bobs, I finally get to work with beautiful dresses, every one with a story behind it.’ She put a hand on her heart, eyes misty with emotion. ‘It will be an honour and a privilege to restore them to their former glory. And get paid for it!’
‘All right, steady on,’ Sophy muttered. She’d never known anyone so excited at the prospect of a full day’s work ahead.
As soon as they got to the shop, Cress took off her coat, hung it up on the coat stand in the back office, then pulled on one of the handmade work smocks she always wore over plain black trousers and a jumper. This one was…
‘Is that a forties novelty print?’ Phoebe asked, eyes wide at the sight of many many poodles cavorting over the navy blue background.
‘It is.’ Cress held out the corners of the smock. ‘I hope Coco Chanel won’t mind being in close proximity to so many poodles.’
‘I’ll have to give you some treats to put in the pockets.’ Phoebe beamed even though it wasn’t even ten on a Monday morning. Far too early for her to be in a goodmood. ‘Ilovepockets.’
‘I love pockets too!’ Cress stuck her hand in the deep pockets that she sewed into all her smocks so she’d have somewhere to stash her thimbles and boxes of pins and measuring tape. ‘Did you know that in olden times they tried to ban women from having pockets in their dresses, because they didn’t want them to have anywhere to store seditious material?’
‘Seditious material?’ Sophy queried.
‘Pamphlets complaining about the king or the government and telling the workers to rise up,’ Cress explained. ‘Pockets areliterallya feminist issue.’
Sophy had never really thought about pockets in that way before. She wasn’t sure that Phoebe had either, because there was a moment’s silence, which Sophy punctured with the thought that had tormented her all weekend.
‘Here’s a funny thing, I thought Charles was gay…’
Phoebe rolled her eyes. ‘Charles,gay? Don’t be ridiculous,’ she scoffed. ‘His last girlfriend was the accessories editor atVogueand the one before that, Odette, she was French. So chic, so elegant, although it turned out that she was also so married.’
‘He’s definitely straight then?’ Sophy clarified despondently, because she’d really put her foot in it with Charles. He probably thought she was some kind of horrible homophobe or was so unsophisticated and narrow-minded that she assumed that any man who worked in fashion and wore a lilac suit had to be gay.
