Page 74 of The Vintage Dress Shop in Primrose Hill
‘Well, yes, he finally found his passport and everything’s been sent off but it could still take a while before I get my dual citizenship. If I get it. I had to prove that I was of good character and I’m a bit iffy about one of my references. My old headmistress, she never liked me.’ Sophy realised she was getting off-message. ‘So, have you spoken to Johnno, then?’
They both nodded. ‘He rang the other day. Silly sod forgot about the time difference, didn’t he? Rang us in the middle of the night.’
‘I told him to call. He didn’t know about Jean’s hips and the operation…’
Sophy frowned through the warning tinges of what was likely to be a memorable headache. ‘Have you got a date yet?’
Jean brushed the question away with one hand. ‘Now don’t you worry about that, sweetheart. Like I said, Johnno’s going to sort it all out.’
Their faith in their only, exceedingly feckless son was touching but also very misguided. ‘But I can’t get my ticket until I get my citizenship, which could take months, and I’ve left it too late to apply for…’
‘Sophy, sweetheart, you worry too much,’ Bob said. Sophy was starting to understand where Johnno’s carefree attitude to life came from. Whereas it had skipped Sophy and she’d got a full dose of Caroline’s genes, which meant no problem couldn’t be made worse by worrying about it for weeks.
She rang off after another five minutes because she was fading fast and also because Bob and Jean didn’t seem to appreciate the urgency of the situation; that they, Sophy, and Jean’s new hips were stuck in a holding pattern, until her citizenship came through and then she’d probably have to fork out thousands of pounds on airfare because her dates weren’t flexible.
Even though she was at least four floors up – Sophy had a distant memory of having to climb a lot of stairs last night – from behind the bathroom door she could hear the rumble of traffic and other signs of life.
She wasn’t hiding from Charles, not exactly. But it took long moments to repair some of the damage of the night before. Charles being Charles had a full range of skincare products, which Sophy took full advantage of. Though she didn’t like to rifle through his bathroom cabinet to see if he had a spare toothbrush, so she used her finger and toothpaste to get rid of the dead rodent taste in her mouth.
Only then did she emerge to follow her nose and the scent of coffee back to the living room, which turned out to have a tiny little kitchenette off it. Charles had pulled back the heavy aubergine velvet drapes so the room was flooded with sunlight.Two walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the colourful spines a design feature in their own right. Above an ornate art nouveau fireplace hung a black and white photographic portrait of an impossibly slender woman in a black dress posing between two elephants in what looked like the wild.
‘It’s a Richard Avedon shot from 1955, taken at the Cirque d’Hiver in Paris,’ Charles said from where he was pouring coffee from a moka pot into two tiny espresso cups. ‘She was a very famous American model who went by the name of Dovima. The original sold for over a million dollars ten years ago. Coffee?’
‘God, yes, please,’ Sophy said gratefully. She couldn’t quite face sitting on the sofa again, not after spending the whole night on it, but sank down into a white leather cube-shaped armchair. ‘I had to pinch some of your Clarins products. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Of course not. Did you find the spare toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet?’ He was walking towards her, still in last night’s trousers and waistcoat, but he had discarded his tailcoat and bow tie. Though Sophy was pretty sure that she’d tugged on the bow tie last night, to get his mouth closer and closer to her.
‘Charles, I wasn’t raised by wolves, there was no way I was going through your cabinet,’ Sophy said and she felt inexplicably shy and awkward this morning, even though they really hadn’t done anything more than kiss before falling asleep in each other’s arms. ‘Thank you.’
She took the espresso cup from him, wishing it was five times the size, then he rested the warm weight of his palm against her cheek for a second before retreating to the sofa. ‘Everything all right with the grandparents?’
‘Johnno finally called them and now they seem to think he’s going to perform some kind of administrative miracle and fast-track my citizenship,then maybe tackle world peace and climate change after that.’ Sophy shrugged her aching shoulders. ‘Sorry, I’m being very grumpy, aren’t I?’
‘If your head feels anything like mine does then you’re allowed to be grumpy,’ Charles said. He was reclining full-length on the sofa, head thrown back as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Even though he claimed to be as hungover as Sophy, he still managed to look effortlessly elegant. ‘So, how long have we got, then?’
Sophy was excited about Australia. She really was. Though lately she had to keep reminding herself that she was excited about Australia. ‘It’s hard to say.’
Charles turned his head to look at her, the movement making him wince. ‘I was thinking it must be about what? Fourteen weeks now?’
‘My departure date isn’t set in stone.’ Sophy tried to shrug casually. She should tell him that her departure date might get moved up so it was more like ten weeks, but what was the point when she didn’t know for sure herself? And it wasn’t a conversation that Sophy wanted to have with a hangover. Or at any other time really. She just wanted to stay in the lovely bubble that only had space in it for Charles and herself. ‘It could be earlier. It could be later. Still not sure how long I might actually stay for? Have I mentioned that Jean, my grandmother, is having her hips—’
‘I also meant how long have you got for today? I could find you something more comfortable to wear, and I’ll even let you have the sofa all to yourself if you did want to stay,’ he added plaintively. It was a tempting thought. Especially as the prospect of having to squeeze her aching feet back into last night’s shoes made Sophy want to cry. Her beautiful velvet dress was drooping now and all she wanted to do was slip into something more comfortable. More than that, she wanted to slip into Charles’s arms again.
‘I could maybe spare you a small corner of sofa and could we get Deliveroo to deliver some paracetamol? Actually, hold that thought,’ she said, as her phone, which she’d wedged down the side of the chair, beeped with an incoming message.
Sophy! Where are you? Why didn’t you come home last night? Are you dead in a ditch? I couldn’t sleep a wink for worrying about you! Also, FYI, this is not a hotel and Mike’s mum and dad are coming round for lunch. You promised you’d make a prawn cocktail and peel potatoes. WHERE ARE YOU????? Lots of love, Mum x
‘My mother has plans for me,’ Sophy said sadly, attempting to hoist herself to her feet. ‘I don’t want to but I have to go home and make a prawn cocktail.’
‘A cruel and unusual punishment.’ Charles sighed. ‘You are thirty, Sophy, you are allowed to live your own life.’
Sophy was on her very own wobbly feet again, so she could walk over to the sofa and stroke Charles’s forehead in what she hoped was a soothing manner. ‘She’s not dealing well with only having me around for an indefinite amount of time,’ she said softly.
‘That makes two of us then.’ With a groan, Charles sat up so he could clutch his head in his hands. ‘But I’ll see you in the week.’ It was a statement, not a question. ‘There’s the opening night of a new fashion exhibit at the V&A. With a champagne bar.’
A champagne bar was not the incentive it normally would be. In fact, Sophy nearly retched at the mention of champagne. But an evening with Charles would be wonderful because even though she was still here in his flat, his hand resting gently on her hipbone, she was already missing him.
‘Then I could come back here?’ she suggested, because Charles was right. She was allowed to live her own life. Also, she could just tell Caroline that she was sleeping over with one of the girls from the shop.She and Charles only had an indefinite amount of time too and Sophy wanted more than just memories of those devastating kisses that always left her hungry for what might happen next. ‘For one of your famous nightcaps.’
