Page 43 of The Vintage Dress Shop in Primrose Hill
‘What do you think I’d look good in?’ Beyoncé stared at herself side-on in the mirror, sucking in her stomach. ‘I haven’t been to the gym in weeks.’
‘I have a fitted sheath dress that would look wonderful with your curves.’ Phoebe had already moved on to Jaunty Ponytail, who was tall and willowy. ‘And you can pretty much wear anything. Let’s pull some things.’
Sophy sidled over to Phoebe. ‘Shall I take them downstairs?’ she asked out of the corner of her mouth.
Phoebe shook her head. ‘Best to keep them contained. I’ll go and get some dresses and you are to stay here and don’t let themtouchanything.’
Sophy did think about putting back all the dresses that had been tried on and dumped, but the colour coding in the atelier was very subtle. What was the difference between cream and oyster? Mushroom and taupe? Ivory and white?
Instead she kept up a steady stream of inconsequential chatter about the hen do, the centrepieces, the honeymoon and whether Chinese lanterns were bad for the environment, until Phoebe returned with a swathe of black dresses over her arm.
Then, while Sophy watched in amazement, the three bridesmaids each tried on only one dress, then declared that they’d found their wedding outfit.
Phoebe had many faults. Many, many,manyfaults; but oh boy, did she know how to make the perfect match between dress and wearer. She was like a dress whisperer.
There also seemed to be something about slipping into an elegant black dress and being pleased with the results that calmed the three women down. After choosing their wedding wear, they sat decorously on the sofas and lavished praise on Ingrid for finding a beautiful wedding dress, which was going to ‘look simply amazing on Instagram’.
By the time they all left, it was almost closing time and Sophy was physically and emotionally drained. ‘I feel like I just ran a marathon.Not even an ordinary marathon but one of those extreme marathons where they run for a week.’
‘When in reality, you had to walk half of the five-kilometre fun run we did for charity,’ Cress reminded her as she put all the discarded wedding dresses back where they belonged, because of course Cress knew the difference between oyster and cream.
‘I don’t do running,’ Phoebe said, which didn’t come as any surprise. She’d been downstairs to check that Chloe and Beatrice had shut up the shop to her exacting specifications and was now back with a smile on her face, which was very disconcerting. ‘Sophy…’
Sophy’s stomach dropped.Now what?
‘I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’ Phoebe wasn’t just smiling but smiling warmly. ‘You really do have great people skills.’
‘I didn’t do anything,’ Sophy demurred, and she had to give credit where credit was due. ‘You’re the one with serious skills. First you terrified them into submission and then you put each of them into the perfect dress on the first go. How do you do that?’
‘I don’t know. It just happens.’ Phoebe walked over to the little alcove just before Cress’s workroom. ‘And of course, Cress, you’re always wonderful so no surprises there.’
She emerged with a bottle of champagne. ‘I think we bloody deserve this. Just don’t tell Freddy, right?’
‘Oh, do you think we should…?’
‘Our lips are sealed.’ Sophy shut Cress down with a very pointed look. ‘Apart from when we’re drinking the champagne, that is.’
It was lovely and unexpected; Phoebe even praised Sophy for her crisis management over the stuck zip on the silver wiggle dress. Apparently Chloe had confessed everything as soon as Phoebe asked why there was a pinkrepair tag on the dress, which was hanging up outside the changing room.
‘Of course, I’d have been furious if you’d got eyebrow gel on the dress itself, but you didn’t,’ Phoebe said, because she could only be nice if it came with a disclaimer.
Sophy was starting to realise that, so she said nothing but continued to sip champagne and turn over the events of what had been a very hectic afternoon, until she suddenly frowned. ‘Hang on a second! You said that one of the dresses that got manhandled was made in 1946 for a woman who married some bloke who’d been a prisoner of war…’
‘And your point is?’ Phoebe raised her eyebrows and allowed herself a superior little smile.
‘My point is that clothes were rationed until 1949, so how did they have enough clothing coupons for a cream silk dress with an absolutely enormous train?’ Sophy’s frown grew more ferocious. ‘Also, wasn’t that a thirties design with the graduated stitched stripes? You made that story up, didn’t you?’
‘I don’t know why you’d say such a thing.’ Phoebe shared a sorrowful look with Coco Chanel. ‘Every dress has a story.’
‘I just didn’t realise that some of the stories were completely made up,’ Sophy grumbled but, before she could grouse any further, Cress grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly.
‘You recognised a 1930s wedding dress by its graduated stitched stripes?’ She gave a happy little sigh. ‘I am so proud of you, Sophy. Four weeks ago you didn’t know your Mainbocher from your Molyneux.’
‘Sorry to break it to you but I still don’t, but I do know when someone’s spinning me a yarn.’ She prodded Phoebe’s foot, which she’d never have dared do if she wasn’t on her second glass of champagne. ‘Blind, lacemaking nuns?’
‘Stranger things have happened.’ Phoebe lifted up Coco Chanel, which was no mean feat as she was denser than a breeze-block, so she could nuzzle her face. ‘As if I would make up stories about the provenanceof our dresses. I’m shocked that you’d even think such a thing.’
‘I’m so on to you,’ Sophy said and now they weren’t just bonding but actually exchanging banter. Or they were until Phoebe’s phone beeped with an incoming message. She glanced down at the screen and whatever she saw there made her scowl.
