Page 16 of Wrapped Up at the Vintage Dress Shop
Phoebe stood up. ‘All right, I’ll apologise,’ she said magnanimously. She stalked back into the atelier where Rosie and her entourage were sitting stony-faced on the couches.
‘I’m very sorry if you feel like I’ve hurt your feelings,’ Phoebe said, which was the absolute best she could do under the circumstances.
Rosie glared at her. ‘That is a bullshit apology. You clearly have anger-management issues and you shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the public.’
‘Well, that’s rich coming from someone who lacks even the most basic good manners,’ Phoebe said and somehow the apology descended into a slanging match.
Not that Phoebe was doing the slanging. Not when she could embark on an impassioned rant about vintage dresses and how unique and precious each one was and to disrespect them was to disrespect her, her job, the shop, the planet.
‘These dresses aren’t boring. These dresses represent so many different women’s lives. They capture and preserve a magic moment in time. Their hopes and dreams on the day that they wore their wedding dress. It doesn’t matter whether they were a war bride or a debutante or a sixties dolly girl.’ Phoebe clasped her hands together as she warmed to her theme. ‘These women all had something in common, a shared sisterhood, as they slipped on the dress that they’d chosen so carefully. Sometimes a dress they’d scrimped and saved for. A dress that made them feel beautiful and special and like the best version of themselves because that’s the alchemy of a good dress.
‘It’s not like buying some ten-quid scrap of fabric from a fast-fashion manufacturer, which pollutes the planet and exploits their workforce in some horrible sweatshop in . . .’
‘That is enough!’ said a sharp voice from behind Phoebe. It wasn’t coming from Rosie who was opening and shutting her mouth like a goldfish though thankfully no more words were coming out of it. ‘For Christ’s sakes, Phoebe, enough!’
It was Freddy.
‘I called him,’ Cress said uncomfortably, wilting at the look Phoebe gave her. It wasn’t enough that she’d been keeping secrets from Phoebe and not naming a dress after her. Now she was getting Freddy involved when Phoebe was perfectly capable of handling this situation herself.
‘I can’t believe this,’ Freddy said, his face set in tight lines, no sign of his usual grin or the spark in his eyes.
Phoebe was glad that Freddy appreciated the severity of the situation. He did have a tendency sometimes to makelight of things, usually when Phoebe was kicking off despite her very valid reasons for kicking off.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he continued. ‘I can’t apologise enough. This is not the kind of behaviour we tolerate here.’
Phoebe folded her arms and allowed herself a smug smile. She couldn’t wait for Freddy to banish Rosie from the shop and maybe he’d banish the whole stupid rental dresses thing while he was at it.
Then Freddy sent her, not Rosie, a scalding look that seemed to remove Phoebe’s top layer of skin, before turning his attention to Rosie, who also had her arms folded.
‘She was shouting right in my face and then she grabbed me,’ she said, holding out her arm as if there should be a huge bruise on it, which there wasn’t because Phoebe hadn’t laid a finger on her. She was pretty sure about that.
‘I didn’t grab you, I grabbed the dress, which you damaged,’ Phoebe pointed out with what she hoped was an icy dignity.
‘She wasliterallyattacking me. She was bullying me, wasn’t she?’ she enquired of her gang of horrible little mates who all agreed.
‘Totally disrespecting you,’ one of the romper twins said.
‘So triggering,’ added the other one.
‘Again, I can only apologise,’ Freddy said, sincerity oozing from every pore. ‘As a gesture of goodwill, we can offer you a free dress of your choosing and, Sophy, maybe another bottle of champagne while you and Rosie hammer out the details.’
‘You’re going to givehera dress?’ Phoebe couldn’t believe what her own ears had just heard. ‘What is wrong with you?’
Freddy’s blue eyes weren’t sparkling so much as flashing a warning. His polite smile was a mask, a flimsy copy of his usual smile. ‘Phoebe,’ he said thinly. ‘A word, please. Let’s take this downstairs.’
Then Freddy’s hand was at the small of Phoebe’s back, pushing her firmly towards the stairs. She tried to dig herheels in but it was no use. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ Freddy whispered fiercely in her ear as if he knew that Phoebe still had plenty to say to and about Rosie.
Maybe it was better to do that in a second location. Then Freddy could explain just what the hell he was playing at by offering Rosie a free dress. Over Phoebe’s dead body was that going to happen.
Neither of them said a word as they went down the stairs, Coco Chanel bringing up the rear.
‘You’ve got some explaining to do,’ Phoebe said as they walked through the busy shop.
‘You’re the one who needs to explain,’ Freddy snapped, his fingers flexing against her back as he guided Phoebe into the office and shut the door behind them with a thud so firm that it was almost a slam.
Phoebe shivered because through the patio doors she could see that the sunny, blue morning had been replaced by a damp grey afternoon. Or maybe it was because of the frosty expression on Freddy’s face.
‘Freddy, you know I would never do anything to damage the reputation of The Vintage Dress Shop,’ Phoebe began. ‘You know that.’
