Page 68 of The Vintage Dress Shop in Primrose Hill
‘Finally, as you know, it’s the vintage spring ball next Saturday,’ Phoebe said, and Sophy had never been so pleased to hear the word ‘finally’. ‘I persuaded so-called Freddy to fork out for hair and make-up, so my friends Vivienne and Roy are going to set up in the back office after lunch. We’ll sort out a rota then.’
Chloe, Beatrice and Anita had perked up at this news. Even Cress was sitting up straight and not slumping. ‘Roy does the best victory rolls in London,’ Chloe said enthusiastically, though she might just as well have been talking in Martian for all the sense that made.
‘Of course, you’ll be off the clock, but the shop paid for the tickets and you’re all ambassadors for The Vintage Dress Shop so I’m going to need pictures of your outfits, including accessories, by Wednesday morning at the latest. That gives you over a week to rectify matters if your outfits aren’t good enough,’ Phoebe said officiously as if she’d been huffing glue instead of eating breakfast. ‘Cress, youarecoming, aren’t you? With your boyfriend?’
Cress slumped again. ‘We’re not really ball-type people.’
‘Nonsense, it will be fun,’ Phoebe said grimly.
‘It really will be fun,’ Beatrice added. ‘There’s a fantastic big band orchestra and if you get there early, then you can have a quick jive lesson.’
It did sound fun. It also sounded like everyone knew about this vintage ball except Sophy. Including Cress and probably even Charles and neither of them had told her! It stung like a thousand wasps.
‘What vintage spring ball?’ Sophy asked in injured tones, shooting Cress a reproachful look.
‘I thought you knew,’ Cress mouthed back while Phoebe, if you looked at her really hard, did seem to shift a little uncomfortably.
‘I thought I’d told you,’ she said with very little effort to sound at all convincing. ‘Anyway, I didn’t think you’dstillbe here after all these weeks.’
‘Oh my God, do you actually think before you open your mouth?’ Sophy demanded, too hurt at being left out to bother being diplomatic.
‘Whatever, I’m sorry. You can come,’ Phoebe said with a huff and an eye-roll. And then a smirk. ‘Charles is already on the list, so you don’t need to have to ask for a ticket for him too.’
Sophy went hot, then a little clammy. ‘Charles?’ She made it sound like she’d never heard his name before.
‘Yes, Charles,’ Chloe piped up. ‘The Charles whose face you were eating outside the pub on Friday night.’
‘I’m not… we weren’t… No.’ Try as she might, Sophy couldn’t manage a full sentence.
‘The same Charles who took you away for a dirty weekend.’ Beatrice was practically rubbing her hands with glee. ‘Been dying to ask you about it but figured there must be a reason why you were keeping the worst-kept secret ever.’
‘The weekend wasn’t at all dirty,’ Sophy muttered, her hands on her burning cheeks.
‘But isn’t Charles gay?’ Anita asked, which at least meant that Sophy wasn’t the only one in the shop with a wonky gaydar.
Phoebe put her head back so she could scoff more effectively. ‘Charles is so very clearlynotgay.’ She fixed Sophy with her most malevolent look, which was really saying something. ‘But why you’d start something when you’re heading off to Australia very soon, I don’t know. Poor Charles.’
‘Poor Sophy,’ Cress said loyally. ‘But the heart wants what the heart wants.’
Currently, Sophy’s heart wanted Antipodean adventureandCharles.
‘You arestillgoing to Australia, aren’t you?’ Phoebe asked suspiciously and all Sophy could do was nod. ‘Well, thank God for that.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sophy had imagined that her boss would be delighted that her travel plans were still very much ongoing and that Phoebe wouldn’t have to put up with her for much longer, but over the next few days it was as if the other woman had found a whole other level of crackpot dictatorship.
It didn’t help that there was an unseasonable spring heatwave, the weather humid and muggy. It meant that Phoebe redoubled her efforts to make sure that no one with sweaty hands was going anywhere near the dresses, and mostly that meant Sophy. She was washing her hands so often that they were red raw and when she wasn’t at work she had to slather them in a hand cream that had been developed with Norwegian fishermen in mind.
Phoebe was also an absolute martinet when it came to outfits for the ball. She’d originally wanted everyone to wear gowns, until Beatrice pointed out that it would be quite hard to jive in a gown and Cress had flat-out refused to come if wearing one was mandatory.
Sophy had decided to wear the black velvet draped dress she’d found at the car boot sale. Especially as she wanted to see Charles look at her again the way he’d looked at her when she’d tried it on that fateful evening in a bathroom in Bath.
She’d dutifully shown Phoebe a picture of it, along with some gold Mary Jane shoes with a not-ridiculous heel, which she’d bought ages ago for a wedding, but Phoebe had nixed it. ‘It doesn’t look very special,’ she’d ruled.
‘It does when you see it in real life.It’s actually very similar to a Madame Grès dress.’ Ooof! That had made Phoebe’s eyes flash.
‘It’s just an ordinary day dress. I can’t have you wearing that.’
