Page 5 of Wrapped Up at the Vintage Dress Shop
Phoebe folded her arms and pressed her lips together to hide the smile that always wanted to come out when Freddy walked into a room.
‘You’re not going to do anything with me,’ she said crisply. ‘Otherwise I’ll take you to an employment tribunal.’
Chapter Three
Of course, Phoebe wouldnevertake Freddy to an employment tribunal. Unless he really deserved it. He knew that, because as the rest of the staff busied themselves in the end-of-the-day rituals to close the shop, he winked at Phoebe as she made her way to the door to perform the most important ritual of all: turning the sign from open to closed.
There was the scrabble of little paws thundering down the spiral staircase, and Coco Chanel appeared then leapt from the third step from the bottom into Freddy’s arms. Unlike her owner, she wasn’t very good at being stealthy and couldn’t hide her delight that one of her favourite people was about.
On paper, Freddy was Johnno’s solicitor, but that didn’t even begin to explain Freddy’s role at The Vintage Dress Shop, or in their lives. Johnno was, in his own words, a great bloke but he also was the kind of bloke who made chaos into an art form. As well as handling the legalstuff, Freddy was calm, unflappable and also very good at wrangling Johnno. With Freddy around, it meant that Johnno was free to get on with what he really enjoyed, which was ducking and diving, wheeling and dealing and frequently going to see men about dogs. Meanwhile, Freddy ensured that they didn’t get any more angry letters from Camden Council about their business rates being in arrears and all kinds of other boring, business-y matters that no one else wanted to deal with.
With Johnno still ensconced on his parents’ sheep station in Australia, Freddy was the man in charge. Not in charge ofPhoebe – she’d never let a man, not even Freddy, boss her about – but it was good to have him in her corner.
Now, Freddy sat down on one of the pink sofas with Coco in his lap and looked the picture of ease at the flurry of industry around him. Sophy did the cashing up – it was one of only two things that she truly excelled at. The other being dealing with difficult customers as, even though she set Phoebe’s teeth on edge, she was a people person. Anita was vacuuming; Bea was returning discarded dresses from the changing cubicles back to the shop floor, under Phoebe’s keen gaze because there were times when she really did wonder if Bea might be colour-blind. She didn’t seem to be able to tell the difference between sherbet pink and fondant pink for example.
Then Cress came down the stairs. Phoebe knew that she’d have left her workroom and the atelier in pristine condition. She was about the only member of staff who could be trusted to do their job.
As it was, everyone else was now desperate to down tools, even though it was 6.28 p.m. and technically they didn’t down tools until six thirty.
‘I could murder a Pinot Greege,’ Anita said, as she rammed poor Henry Hoover into his cupboard next to the changing cubicles.
‘I might actually have a pint of lager,’ Bea mused as she dithered over the correct placement of a red dress. ‘Is this scarlet or crimson?’
It was actually carmine but Phoebe didn’t point that out as Bea had managed to hang it in its proper place.
Once everyone had discharged their duties to Phoebe’s satisfaction and Coco Chanel had been wrestled back into her pink tweed jacket, Phoebe shooed them out of the door so she could set the alarm, lock up behind them and follow them around the corner.
It was Friday evening and as per shop tradition, they decamped to The Hat and Fan, a large and very popular Victorian pub just around the corner. Even though it was a cold October night, damp curling around the edges of dusk, the leaves on the pavement no longer crisp but turning to mulch that perfumed the air, there were groups of people standing outside clutching drinks.
Obviously they hadn’t been on their feet all day, unlike the shop staff and especially Phoebe who was fast approaching the point where her high heels transitioned from being mildly uncomfortable to size-six instruments of torture.
Freddy opened one of the heavy doors, its frosted glass etched with vine leaves, and ushered the women inside.
Their attention was immediately caught by two men waving at them from their favourite corner table and banquette. Charles, who sourced costume jewellery and very high-end dresses for the shop, when he wasn’t dealing in semi-precious gemstones and inexplicably being in love with Sophy. He was dressed in an exquisitely cut lilac suit with a pale green and white Liberty print shirt. Very few men could wear pattern and colour, but Charles was one of them.
The other man was dressed, like so many of the other young men in this arty enclave of north London, in scruffy jeans, a black jumper with holes worn through at the cuff and the elbows, and Converse. This was Miles, Cress’s new boyfriend who was proving to be something of a distraction to Cress’s work ethic, but Phoebe was trying to be understanding about it. After all, Miles was an assistant film director and knew all sorts of glamorous people, and he did do the scruffy thing with a certain insouciant charm. Cress’s previous boyfriend had been the very boring Colin, who’d had a very boring job in computers. Why Cress had gone out with him for fifteen years, Phoebe didn’t know.
Happily, Charles and Miles had already been to the bar, as well as bagsying them their favourite table. There was the ubiquitous bottle of Pinot Grigio in an ice bucket, several bottles of fancy micro-brewed lager and a plethora of packets of crisps.
‘I hope that’s gin with slimline tonic from a bottle and not from the mixer tap,’ Phoebe said as she sat down. ‘Though well done for remembering it’s a slice of lime and not lemon. Thank you. And did you . . .’
‘Yes, there’s a bowl of filtered water for Coco,’ Charles said, gesturing at the corner. ‘I know she can’t have tap.’
It was also something of a tradition, even though he’d been in Australia for nearly eighteen months now, that Johnno kept a tab open for them behind the bar.
Always had done. Even when The Vintage Dress Shop hadn’t existed and Phoebe had worked at Johnno’s Junk in Holloway and Friday evenings had meant another pub that was far less fancy. Back then, Phoebe hadn’t acquired a taste for gin and tonic. She’d drunk vodka and Diet Coke but even then she’d been very particular about the Diet Coke coming from a bottle and not the mixer tap where it could be watered down.
So much had happened since those Holloway days. Phoebe wasn’t the same person she’d been then but some things were absolute, like people would always try and cheat you if you let them.
‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Freddy asked from the other side of the table where he was perched on a low stool, Coco still in his lap.
‘Definitely not worth even a penny,’ Phoebe said crisply, though the look she gave Freddy was much softer than her words. Still, she felt a little pang of something close to hurt that Coco preferred Freddy’s lap to her own but then shecomforted herself with the fact that it was only because Coco hadn’t seen Freddy for a couple of days.
Neither had Phoebe. There was so much she wanted to tell him. But that could wait until . . . later. Now, she turned her attention to Charles who was going to an estate sale on Sunday and had promised that he’d look out for shop stock.
‘You know we’re always desperate for little black dresses. And long black dresses too,’ Phoebe said. Charles had an excellent eye and could always be relied upon to come up with the goods.
‘Oh, but I’m going to need some more black dresses to rent,’ Sophy said, her eyes wide and seemingly innocent as Phoebe glared at her.
