Page 38 of The Vintage Dress Shop in Primrose Hill
‘You were just being friendly and I read too much into it…’ By now, one of the nearby artisanal traders could have fried a free-range, organic duck’s egg on Sophy’s face.
Charles tilted his head in concern. ‘Well, I did have a slice of carrot cake when we went to the V&A last week, so no one would blame you for thinking I had a sweet tooth.’
‘No it’s my—What?’
‘But really I prefer savoury so if you are determined to treat me, then I’d much rather have some cheese,’ Charles finished with a conciliatory smile. ‘You’ve been so excited about the cake all afternoon and I hate disappointing you.’
‘Oh no, no, no. It’s fine!’ Relief made Sophy quite giddy, which might have been why she gave Charles a friendly, strictly platonic, thump on the shoulder, which was so enthusiastic that he staggered slightly. ‘Cheese. Yes, you absolutely can have cheese. Stinky, sweaty, smelly cheese, it’s yours!’
‘OK, glad we’ve got all that cleared up,’ Charles said, rubbing his shoulder. ‘Shall we get your cake first then?’
Even though she was meant to be saving up airfare, by the time she and Charles were sitting on a bench overlooking the River Thames as tugboats and pleasure cruisers bobbed past them Sophy was one hundred English pounds lighter. At least.
She hadn’t bought just one cake but a box of babka buns, eclairs, canelés, shortbreads and a whole selection of viennoiseries, including a pear and almond Danish that she was calling first dibs on, which she’d take in to work tomorrow. Then she’d bought a sourdough loaf, several jars of gourmet nut butters, two packs of Ginger Pig sausages and a selection box of cheese for Charles.
Now, she warded off his attempts to feed her a cube of cheese by gripping his wrist in a vice-like hold. ‘Just how stinky, sweaty and smelly is it?’
‘It’s none of those things,’ he protested, trying to make another foray towards her face. ‘It’s an oak-smoked cheddar. You’ll love it.’
It turned out that Sophy did love it, but not as much as she loved Charles popping it in her mouth, the tips of his fingers grazing her lips, so that she was still floating on a little cloud of lust when they retraced their steps back to London Bridge station.
‘The shop’s not open on Sunday, is it?’ Charles asked suddenly, as Sophy relived the moment when he fed her cheese for the fiftieth time. ‘Do you think you could swap your Wednesday off for a Monday?’
Sophy had been slightly dreading the possibility that this might be the last of their educational forays and that Charles considered her either graduated with a working knowledge of vintage fashion or an absolute hopeless case. Even the thought of two consecutive days tramping around museums would be worth it if it meant spending two consecutive days with Charles because yes, she really was that desperate for the crumbs of friendship he kept throwing her.
Except… ‘I’m sure Anita wouldn’t mind but Phoebe gets a bit mardy when people try to swap their days off.’
Now that wedding season was well and truly upon them, Phoebe had even mooted the idea that no one should have any days off at all. She couldn’t seem to fathom that, for the rest of them, The Vintage Dress Shop wasn’t the centre of the universe.
‘I love vintage as much as the next person…’
‘You love it a lot more than the next person,’ Sophy pointed out and Charles gently cuffed her chin, so she could relive that moment too for the entire journey home.
‘I do, but Phoebe is going to be carted off to vintage rehab if she’s not too careful,’ Charles said, as they joined the rush hour crowds pouring into the station. ‘You know what? I’ll clear it with Johnno or Freddy. Just pack an overnight bag.’
‘Overnight? Where are we going?’
And although Charles travelled with her all the way to Euston before he needed to change lines, he refused to fill Sophy in on his plans.
‘It’s a surprise,’ he said with a teasing smile. ‘And it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, would it?’
Chapter Fourteen
When Sophy arrived at The Vintage Dress Shop the next morning, everyone was delighted that she came bearing a box of flaky pastries.
Everyone except Phoebe. As she was always telling them, she didn’t do carbs. Not that she didn’t do carbs before Marbs. Or she didn’t do carbs after six. She just didn’t do carbs full stop.
‘It actually explains a hell of a lot,’ Beatrice whispered as they took their flaky pastries out onto the little canalside terrace even though it was a cold morning with the threat of rain in the air. ‘She’d be a completely different person if she started off the morning with a round of toast.’
‘I couldn’t function without bread,’ Cress said, her mouth full of a mixed berry brioche. ‘Or rice. Or pasta. Or potatoes. Carbs are life.’
When they filed back into the shop, Phoebe made them go outside again to brush themselves down in case they shed crumbs near the dresses.
‘I dread to think how much butter was in those croissants,’ she lamented because she really was a pastry buzzkill. ‘The thought of grease stains on my lovely frocks! No, it’s too awful to contemplate.’
She stood over them while they washed their hands to her exacting specifications and then, and only then, were they allowed to go about their business: Beatrice to the back office, Chloe and Sophy to the shop floor and Phoebe and Cress up tothe atelier, where they were expecting the return of Hege and Ingrid for their second fittings.
‘I’m not anticipating any problems,’ Phoebe said, fixing Sophy with a beady eye. ‘So your presence absolutely won’t be required.’
