Page 23 of The Vintage Dress Shop in Primrose Hill
‘Well, at least that would force you to make some decisions!’ Hege snapped, collapsing back on one of the sofas. ‘I have lost the will to live. Officially!’
Phoebe wasn’t much help. Her usually impeccable façade was looking a bit frayed. Her fringe wasn’t its usual millpond smoothness, almost as if she’d been tugging at her hair, and she had a furrow between her eyebrows, which looked painful.
‘Brides are the worst,’ she hissed at Sophy. ‘And Ingrid is the worst of the worst.’
Sophy was brilliant at customer service but she also liked not being shouted at by a red-faced, rather than blushing, bride-to-be. Still, God loved a trier.
She hesitantly approached the unpredictable Ingrid, whose face was as scrunched up as Coco Chanel’s, who was sat on her favourite blue cushion and snoring loudly as World War Three raged around her. ‘Hi Ingrid, I’m Sophy, a colleague of Phoebe’s. I was just wondering what your vision was for your wedding day?’
The glare that Ingrid shot her was positively demonic. Sophy wilted a little. ‘Not fish fingers and oven chips!’
‘Obviously,’ Sophy said in a soft, modulated voice because Ingrid might bolt at any loud noises. ‘Have you got a Pinterest we could have a look at?’
‘I just want to look beautiful,’ Ingrid all but wailed and, when she wasn’t the colour of a Belisha beacon, eyes puffy from crying, it was obvious that she was an absolute raving beauty. She had delicate features, glossy dark wavy hair, and skin the colour of caramel when it hit the sweet spot in the saucepan.
‘You’re lucky because you have the kind of complexion where you can wear anything,’ Sophy pointed out. ‘Not like me. Put me anywhere near something yellow and small children start crying.’
‘Promise me you’ll never wear yellow,’ Phoebe muttered from somewhere behind Sophy. ‘That pink dress is going to swamp her, get her in the oyster.’
‘Not many brides can wear oyster satin, but I just know that you’ll look stunning in it,’ Sophy said with a lot more conviction than she actually felt. ‘It would wash me out completely.’
‘Stunning?’ Ingrid asked doubtfully. She looked at the dress she was clutching, then looked at herself in the mirrors that lined far too much of the walls of the atelier. ‘I suppose I might as well try something on while we’re here.’
Phoebe took her into the changing room while Sophy poured Hege a glass of champagne, which apparently they offered to all the atelier customers. She quite fancied having a medicinal swig herself.
There was no need. Ten minutes later, Ingrid emerged with an ear-to-ear grin on her face, wearing the oyster satin gown, which was cut on the bias and, because she was tiny with no lumps or bumps, clung to her lovingly. ‘Mum, I’ve got the feeling!’ she gasped, as Phoebe gave her a handso she could step up onto the little platform and admire herself from a multitude of different angles. She was glorious in every one.
‘Oh, Inge. You look so beautiful,’ Hege said, her eyes tearing up again. Sophy quickly seized a box of tissues, which were encased in a gold and cream enamel box.
‘But this is the only dress I’ve tried on.’ Ingrid turned this way and that.
‘When you know, you know,’ Phoebe murmured.
‘Maybe you should try the pink just to make sure,’ Sophy suggested, because there was no way that the pink could even begin to compete with the exquisite, elegant vision of Ingrid in bias-cut oyster satin.
Phoebe’s furious face made her wish she’d kept her big mouth shut.
Still, Ingrid tried on the blush pink dress. Its skirt consisted of layer upon layer of delicate tulle. It was basically a meringue, a very tasteful meringue, and Ingrid was drowning in it. Death by meringue.
‘No,’ she said firmly, after taking just one look at herself. ‘Definitely the oyster. Right, Mum?’
‘Definitely,’ Hege said just as firmly. She was on her second glass of champagne and looked utterly serene now. ‘Now, don’t shout at me. But the oyster satin is a little too big.’
‘Nothing we can’t sort out. We have the most wonderful alterations lady. We poached her from Matches Brides,’ Phoebe added, in a low voice because that was a complete lie.
But Cresswasa wonderful alterations lady and, once Ingrid had changed back into her soul dress, Cress scurried out from her skylit little eyrie where Sophy knew she’d been cowering while things had got heated and started measuring and pinning and tucking.
Sophy probably should have gone downstairs now she was no longer needed, but it was quite the treat to be upstairs in the atelier.Besides, Phoebe was busy making suggestions about accessories so Sophy was free to wander about and touch the dresses, even though she hadn’t washed her hands after she’d had her cup of tea.
The dresses up here didn’t just look more luxurious, more special, than even the prettiest dresses downstairs. They felt the same way too. Sophy rubbed her thumb appreciatively over a heavy ivory silk, which felt slippery and gorgeous. Then her attention was caught by a beautiful soft grey coat and dress that she thought might be crepe de Chine and was definitely from the 1930s like the oyster satin.
‘Hege? Have you thought about your outfit because I think this would look amazing on you,’ Sophy said, lifting it off the rail. ‘Do you want to try it on?’
‘Oh my God, that would be perfect,’ Ingrid breathed. ‘It has sort of the same vibe as my dress and youdolook good in grey, Mum.’
Mother and daughter left an hour later, all ready for their afternoon tea, having left a hefty deposit for the oyster satin gown and the grey crepe de Chine coat and dress, which just needed a little dart here and there.
Sophy hoped that her smile wasn’t too smug as she waved Ingrid and Hege off. ‘Have an éclair for me!’
