Page 6 of Wrapped Up at the Vintage Dress Shop
‘Couldn’t you share the black dresses?’ Charles suggested.
‘I’d be happy to share the black dresses,’ Sophy piped up because of course she would be happy to get her grubby rental hands on shop-quality black dresses.
Phoebe refused to rise to the bait. ‘That’s not what we agreed when I was browbeaten into allowing you to rent out dresses that ordinarily I wouldn’t let over the threshold.’
Maybe she had risen to the bait a little. But really, give Sophy an inch and she’d take a mile. Even metrically. Give Sophy a millimetre and she’d take several kilometres.
Now Sophy sat back with an aggrieved little huff until Charles patted her knee and whispered something in her ear. On Phoebe’s other side Miles and Cress were nuzzling.
Phoebe felt another little pang of something. Not hurt. But the sight of two of her friends – well, Sophy was a colleague – all loved up made her feel a little alone. But then she remembered that she wasn’t alone. She just wasn’t the sort of person who paraded her relationships for all to see. It was very important that, at work, she was defined by her dedication to her job. Besides, it was wrong to let your worthcome from someone else, particularly a man, she’d had that drummed into her at a formative age.
Also, she didn’tneeda man. She had Coco Chanel. She had friends. She had a life that she’d carved out for herself and, best of all, she had a collection of wonderful, beautiful dresses. Which wasn’t mercenary or materialistic. Not in the slightest. People might let you down but dogs were known for their devotion, and a favourite dress and the way it made you feel when you slipped it on was pretty much the best feeling in the world.
Even if both Sophy and Cress now came with a besotted man in tow, besotted was a very temporary state of affairs that wasn’t usually built to last. Not that Phoebe wanted Sophy or particularly Cress to be sad when their relationships combusted as they invariably would.
At least Anita and Bea were not loved up, though they never had any shortage of admirers either on the apps or in actual real life. They were already planning their manoeuvres for the rest of the evening: a bar in Dalston, then a party after that.
Phoebe made a mental note to make sure that they weren’t hungover tomorrow. She couldn’t have them breathing stale alcohol fumes on the customers or the dresses.
Freddy caught her eye and winked again as Phoebe drained the last of her drink, then stood up. She never stayed long. Just the one drink.
There was a fine line between being manageress and being a mate. Phoebe never wanted to step over it. So, when no one wanted to talk about vintage fashion anymore and half of their party were making noises about heading off to the pool table, it was time for Phoebe to leave.
She gathered up a grumbling Coco Chanel, tucking her under one arm like a clutch bag, and said her goodbyes. ‘I’ll see you all tomorrow, bright-eyed and absolutely not hungover. Right?’
Phoebe stood her ground until Anita and Bea agreed that they wouldn’t be hungover, then wended her way through the crowded pub.
Outside, it was now dark enough and late enough that the streets were quiet. She took Coco’s lead and they began to walk the route that they both knew so well.
Behind them came the sound of footsteps. With her heart racing, Phoebe turned the corner but the footsteps were still coming closer and closer.
Then there was a hand on her arm, so Phoebe and Coco had to stop. She turned round, her heart still going like the clappers, and couldn’t even make a sound of protest as the hand slipped to her waist to pull her closer.
‘I’ve been wanting to kiss you for hours,’ Freddy said, because she might notneeda man but it was quite . . .niceto have a man, Freddy, in her life.
‘Not hours,’ Phoebe protested. ‘You came to the shop just after six and it’s not even eight.’
‘I don’t have to be in your presence to want to kiss you,’ Freddy said, his voice dipping low in a way that always caused Phoebe’s knees to tremble.
‘I hope your clients don’t realise that you’re wasting their billable hours thinking about . . .’
‘Less arguing, more kissing,’ Freddy said and then hewaskissing her and Phoebe hadn’t really wanted to argue with Freddy anyway. She’d much rather be kissing him too. The hand that wasn’t clutching Coco’s lead now grabbed Freddy’s shoulder as his mouth moved on hers, his hands cradling her face as if she was something precious.
They kissed until Coco Chanel came between them. Quite literally. Wriggling her body between their legs and jumping up so that her front paws were pressed against Phoebe’s thighs.
‘You’re such a buzzkill, Coco,’ Freddy said fondly. He scooped Coco up and, after checking to make sure that therewas no one around, Phoebe tucked her arm into Freddy’s and they walked home.
Not to the houseboat but to Freddy’s flat a couple of streets away. He wasn’t just a solicitor by trade and a Mr Fixit for Johnno and the dress shop, he also handled the business affairs of several well-known indie bands, a big live music and arts venue in Chalk Farm and who knew what else. Freddy’s clever hands were knuckle-deep in several pies. His office was on the second floor of a pretty stucco-fronted building just off Regent’s Park Road and Freddy lived above that on the top floor.
It had been a long day but Phoebe wasn’t out of breath as she climbed up the many flights of stairs, the stairwell getting narrower and narrower, in her heels.
She’d been here many times. When she reached Freddy’s front door, she did what she always did and slipped off her heels with a grateful sigh before Freddy had even got his keys out.
Phoebe took off her coat and hung it one of the hooks by the door. Freddy already had Coco’s jacket and lead off and was heading for his little galley kitchen, Coco leading the way. As Phoebe stretched tiredly, she could hear the fridge door opening then the trickle of water as he filled Coco’s bowl from the filter jug. Not the tap. She’d had to tell Freddy a hundred times before he finally got the message.
‘Does madam want salmon or chicken tonight?’ Freddy was asking Coco Chanel by the time Phoebe followed them into the kitchen.
The whole flat was tucked under the eaves. The sloping edges of each room weren’t designed for giants. It was just as well that Freddy wasn’t that tall. Only a couple of inches taller than Phoebe when she was in her heels. Which was just how Phoebe liked it. She knew that a lot of women seemed to think that only men over six feet were acceptable, as ifheight was an actual character trait like being generous or kind to animals, but she didn’t feel comfortable having someone loom over her.
