Page 47 of The Vintage Dress Shop in Primrose Hill
Even when Charles shut the door and went back down the stairs, she could still hear him laughing.
PART THREE
Chapter Seventeen
It seemed to Sophy that as soon as her head hit the impossibly comfortable goose-feather pillow, the alarm on her phone chirped into life at a very ungodly six thirty. For the first time since she’d set it, Sophy wished she hadn’t chosen ‘Waltzing Matilda’ as her wake-up music. It was far too jaunty for this particular morning.
She’d actually had almost eight hours’ sleep, but it didn’t feel like it as she blearily made her way into the en suite and wasted several precious minutes figuring out the shower.
Charles hadn’t said where they were going but her fancy new cocktail frock was definitely not the right dress code for a Sunday morning. Instead she pulled on jeans and a jumper and was just doing up her trainers when there was a gentle knock at the door.
‘Are you up? Are you decent?’ Charles called out.
Sophy opened the door. ‘Barely up, barely decent,’ she said and she sighed because, of course, Charles looked box-fresh in the black suit of yesterday, this time with an impossibly crumple-free shirt the same colour as his blue eyes. ‘Do you own a pair of jeans? Trainers? A casual t-shirt?’
‘I have a certain standard of sartorial excellence to maintain,’ Charles said loftily. It was far too early for so many multi-syllabic words.
There wasn’t even time for coffee, though Charles apologised profusely as he hustled her out of the house. It was cold, the air damp, and so earlythat the sun was still getting ready to shine.
But it was worth taking a minute to appreciate the beauty of the sun rising and turning everything gold as it rolled along the hills and peeked out from behind white tufty clouds that looked so perfect that they could have been painted on the sky. Sophy hardly even minded having to get up so early to be rewarded with such a vision.
‘It’s going to be a lovely day,’ Charles said, making it sound like a promise, and Sophy hoped so. Though she needed coffee really soon; as it was, her fingers fumbled with the seatbelt and, as the engine purred into life, she found it hard to keep her eyes open.
They drove out of Bath, pootling along small country roads, fields and hedgerows a green blur outside the window. Sophy snuggled down into her jumper but tried very hard to keep her eyes wide open. The last thing she wanted to do was fall asleep and have Charles hear her snore or, worse, see her dribble.
Thankfully it was only a short drive, not more than half an hour until they drove into a…
‘A cattle market?’ Sophy thought she might cry.
‘Not on Sundays.’
‘Charles, I get that you like surprises but if you don’t tell me exactly where we’re going, I’m going to throw myself out of the car.’ Sophy’s fingers were already curled round the door handle.
‘Flea market,’ Charles said quickly to save Sophy from an untimely death or at least a broken limb or two. ‘A huge car boot-cum-flea market that only happens once a month. You’re going to love it.’
Sophy wasn’t sure about that and, when they pulled up at a little booth and a man in a bulky jacket with a hi-vis tabard over the top told them that the market wasn’t open to buyers for another half an hour,she thought she might have a little cry.
‘Oh, I know Gerry,’ Charles said and they were waved through because was there a single person in England who Charles didn’t know?
They parked in an almost empty car park. Sophy steeled herself for the smell of animal manure when she opened the door, but thankfully there wasn’t anything to make her retch.
‘Though it smells weird, doesn’t it?’ she remarked to Charles as she did a good impersonation of one of the Bisto kids. ‘What is it?’
‘I think it’s what people call fresh air.’ Charles took in a couple of big lungfuls too. ‘When you live in London you forget that the whole time you’re breathing in pollution and exhaust fumes and God knows what else.’
They stood there for several long moments inhaling the fresh air that they’d heard so much about until more urgent needs took over.
‘Coffee!’ Sophy cried, her eyes alighting on a food truck and a sign that said they sold the magic elixir that she craved. ‘I’m going to get us coffee.’
Despite Charles knowing Gerry there were very few stalls ready to be picked over and Sophy was amused to see Charles sitting in a white plastic chair in the car park of a cattle market demolishing a bacon butty and sipping from a styrofoam cup of instant coffee. He still managed to look as elegant and refined as if he were drinking brandy and smoking a cigar at the most exclusive gentlemen’s club in Mayfair.
Charles explained that while most of his stock came from dealers, he had found some absolute gems (‘pun intended, Sophy’) at car boot sales. Although even quite a few car boot sellers had got notions after watching too many episodes ofAntiques Roadshow.
‘I’ve been quoted the most outrageous pricesfor items whose provenance can be traced back to the local branch of Argos. Then again, haggling is all part of the fun,’ Charles said, standing up and brushing his suit for crumbs. ‘I hope it won’t be too boring for you. Do you mind that I dragged you here at the crack of dawn?’
Now that she’d had caffeine and carbs and salty bacon, Sophy was feeling no pain. ‘Are you kidding? This is just like being onBargain Hunt.’
‘I don’t know whatBargain Huntis,’ Charles said, assuming a bemused air that wasn’t even a little bit convincing.
