Page 4 of Wrapped Up at the Vintage Dress Shop
So, she just smiled serenely. ‘Ladies, shall we?’ She gestured at the stairs again, but rolled her eyes at Bea as the two women ascended to dress heaven.
It was time for the hard work to truly begin.
A couple of hours later, Victoria and her mollified mum left, both of them having fallen head over heels for the second dress Phoebe had selected. A 1930s ivory, Alençon lace fitted full-length dress with an open back and puff sleeves – a dress that few women could get away with but Phoebe had known that Victoria was one of those rare creatures.
It was a Friday, two weeks until Halloween. People were already looking ahead to the festive party season, Christmas gifting and even New Year’s Eve, so the shop was briskly busy, the afternoon soundtracked by the stereophonic symphony of the bell above the door tinkling and the constantka-chingof the till.
Phoebe much preferred dealing with customers by appointment rather than the randoms who just walked in without a clue about fashion or what suited them. Midway through the afternoon, a woman had got very huffy when Phoebe wouldn’t let her try a dress on, though really it was an act of charity.
‘You can’t wear bright yellow with your complexion. Anyone can see that you’re a true winter,’ Phoebe had said, homing in on a sixties minidress in a softer shade. ‘You can only wear yellow if it’s an icy, pale yellow. Though you’d look much better in a ruby red or a midnight blue.’
The woman had shoved the dress backin the wrong placethen stormed out. Phoebe had only been trying to help herbe the best version of herself, as she told Cress when she went up to the atelier with a dress that needed a new zip.
‘Oh, Pheebs, maybe she was happy being the version of herself that she already was,’ Cress said gently. ‘Have you thought about that?’
‘I’m not sure how she could be happy when she doesn’t have a clue what her colours are. What an awful existence! I’d be a very unhappy person if I was living my life in pastel shades.’ Phoebe shuddered at the thought and Cress grinned.
‘The day I see you wearing pale pink is when I’ll know that you’ve taken a blow to the head and must have a concussion,’ Cress said, then turned her attention to the dress she had in front of her. ‘Now, stop distracting me. I’m working on a particularly tricky alteration and I need to concentrate.’
It was nearly closing time when Phoebe went back downstairs, only to find that Sophy was sending off three rental dresses by courier to goodness knows where.
Nothing was more likely to send Phoebe into a frenzy because even if they were substandard rental dresses, it was highly likely that they’d never see them again.
Sophy had the audacity to look bored as if they’d been through this many times. When they’d only been through it maybe five times.
‘You know how the rental scheme works. The customer visited the website and chose the dresses they wanted to hire. They filled in the forms; they’ve paid a deposit. I don’t see what the problem is,’ Sophy drawled.
‘No, you wouldn’t,’ Phoebe said, snatching the paperwork from Sophy so she could pore over it. Itlookedcorrect . . .
‘My five-minute waiting time is over,’ the courier grumbled.
. . . but that didn’t stop Phoebe from looking up the address on Google Street View to make sure it was legit and her dresses weren’t going to end up on a container ship bound for who knows where.
‘Oh my God, Phoebe, you’re being absolutely ridiculous,’ Sophy snapped. Ever since she’d got the green light on this rental nonsense, it had gone to her head. She’d never have dared speak to Phoebe like that before.
‘Either I leave or I charge you extra waiting time at fifty per cent,’ the courier said as Sophy snatched the paperwork back then held it out of reach of Phoebe’s arms.
‘It’s fine,’ Sophy said. ‘You can take the dresses.’
‘It’s not fine,’ Phoebe said as she hadn’t even seen the dresses, which were packed away and for all she knew – she wouldn’t put anything past Sophy – they might not even be rental dresses but precious shop stock being sent off to be badly treated by someone who couldn’t even commit to buying a dress.
‘It’s fine,’ Sophy repeated, grimly. Her face was getting redder and redder, which clashed with her hair.
‘Open the bag!’ Phoebe demanded.
‘I don’t get paid enough for this. I’m leaving,’ the courier said, taking a couple of steps closer to the door, which suddenly opened.
‘We’re closed!’ Phoebe and Sophy snapped in unison, not even bothering to look at the prospective customer as they tussled over the bag of dresses.
‘I can see something emerald green in there!’ Phoebe hissed. ‘It better not be that velvet cocktail dress that I already told you . . .’
‘Phoebe!’ said an amused, familiar-sounding voice. ‘You’re at a ten and we need you at a three. Four tops!’
Phoebe let go of the bag so suddenly that Sophy staggered back. ‘I’m not a ten,’ she insisted, lowering her voice, which to be fair had become quite loud. ‘A five. Maybe a six.’
As Sophy shoved the bag at the courier who practically ran out of the shop with it, the newcomer shook his head and grinned.
‘What am I going to do with you?’ he asked.
