A Vintage Affair (18 page)

‘It’s just a friendly five-minute chat,’ he explained, as he led me down the brightly lit corridor. He put his shoulder to the heavy studio door and it opened with a muffled ‘swish’. ‘We’ve got a pre-record on, so it’s okay to talk,’ he explained as we went in. ‘Ginny – meet Phoebe.’

‘Hi, Phoebe,’ said Ginny as I sat down. She nodded at the headphones lying in front of me. I slipped them on and heard the pre-record finishing. Then there was a bit of banter with the sports reporter – something to do with the London Olympics – and a trail for Danny Baker. ‘Now,’ Ginny said, smiling at me. ‘From rags to riches, that’s what Phoebe Swift is hoping for. She’s just opened a vintage dress shop down in Blackheath – Village Vintage – and she joins me now. Phoebe, London Fashion Week has just finished – this year vintage was quite a big theme, wasn’t it?’

‘It was. Several of the major houses had a vintage feel to their new collections.’

‘And why
does
vintage seem to be the flavour
de nos
jours?
’

‘I think the fact that a style icon like Kate Moss chooses to wear it has had a big impact on the market.’

‘She wore that gold satin thirties dress that got ripped to shreds, didn’t she?’

‘She did – but that was a case of riches to
rags
, because it was said to have cost
£
2,000. There are lots of Hollywood stars wearing vintage now on the red carpet – one thinks of Julia Roberts at the Oscars in vintage Valentino, or Renée Zellweger in that 1950s canary yellow gown by Jean Desses. All this has changed the perception of vintage, which used to be seen as something Bohemian and quirky, rather than the highly sophisticated choice that it is now.’

Ginny scribbled on her script. ‘So what does vintage
do
for a girl?’

‘The fact that you know you’re wearing something that is both highly individual and beautifully made is itself uplifting. And you’re aware that the garment has a history – a heritage, if you like – which gives it a kind of backbone. No contemporary piece of clothing can offer this added dimension.’

‘So what tips do you have when buying vintage?’

‘Be prepared to spend time looking, and know what
suits
you. If you’re curvy, then don’t go for the twenties or sixties as the boxy style won’t flatter you; go for the more fitted silhouette of the forties and fifties. If you like the thirties, be aware that those figure-skimming designs are unforgiving on a round tummy or large bust.
I’d also say be realistic. Don’t go into a vintage shop and ask to be turned into, say, Audrey Hepburn in
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
because that style may well not do anything for you and you might miss something that would.’

‘What are
you
wearing then, Phoebe?’

I glanced at my dress. ‘A non-label floral chiffon tea dress from the late 1930s –
my
favourite era – with a vintage cashmere cardigan.’

‘Very nice too. You strike me as quite a cool lady.’ I smiled. ‘And do you always wear vintage?’

‘I do – if not a whole outfit, then vintage accessories; the days when I wear nothing that’s vintage are rare.’

‘But’ – Ginny pulled a face – ‘I don’t think I’d want to wear anyone else’s old clothes.’

‘Some people do feel like that.’ I thought of Mum. ‘But we vintage lovers are born, not made, so we’re not squeamish about it. We feel that a tiny stain or mark is a small price to pay for owning something that’s not just original, it may even bear an iconic name.’

Ginny held up her pen, ‘so what are the main issues with vintage then? The prices?’

‘No, for the quality, the prices remain reasonable – another plus point in these credit-crunched times. It’s the sizing: vintage clothes tend to run small. Waists were fashionably tiny from the forties through to the sixties, dresses and jackets were very fitted, and women wore corsets and girdles to be able to squeeze into them. Added to which women today are simply bigger. My advice when buying vintage is simply to ignore the number on the label and try it on.’

‘What about the care of these old clothes?’ Ginny
asked. ‘Could you tell us how to keep our vintage mintage?’

I smiled. ‘There are some basic rules. Hand wash knitwear using baby shampoo and don’t soak it, as that could stretch the fibres; then dry it inside out and flat.’

‘What about mothballs?’ said Ginny, holding her nose.

‘They do smell foul and the more fragrant alternatives don’t seem to work. The best thing is to keep anything moth-prone in polythene bags; and a squish of perfume in the wardrobe can work wonders – anything strong and sweet like Fendi will deter moths.’

‘It certainly deters me,’ Ginny laughed.

‘With silk,’ I went on, ‘store it on padded hangers, away from direct sunlight as it fades easily. When it comes to satin,
don’t
let water near it – it’ll wrinkle – and never buy satin that’s brittle or frayed as it won’t stand up to wear.’

‘As Kate Moss discovered.’

‘Indeed. I’d also advise your listeners to avoid anything that desperately needs cleaning, as it may prove impossible. Gelatine sequins melt under modern cleaning techniques. Bakelite or glass beads can crack.’

‘Now there’s a vintage word – “Bakelite”,’ said Ginny with an amused expression. ‘But where do we buy vintage clothes? Apart from at shops like yours, obviously …’

‘At auctions,’ I replied, ‘and at vintage fairs – they take place a few times a year in the bigger cities. Then there’s eBay, of course, though make sure you ask the vendor for every single measurement.’

‘What about charity shops?’

‘You will find vintage in them, but not at bargain
prices as the charities have become more clued up about its worth.’

‘Presumably you have a steady stream of people bringing in clothes they want to sell or asking you to look through their wardrobes and attics?’

‘I do – and I love it, because I never know what I’ll find; and when I see something I like, I get this wonderful feeling –
here
.’ I laid my hand on my chest. ‘It’s like … falling in love.’

‘So it’s a vintage
affair
.’

I smiled. ‘You could put it like that.’

‘Do you have any other advice?’

‘Yes. If you’re selling – check the pockets.’

‘Do things get left in them?’

I nodded. ‘All sorts – keys, pens and pencils.’

‘Ever found hard cash?’ Ginny joked.

‘Sadly not – though I did find a postal order once – for two shillings and sixpence.’

‘So check your pockets then, everyone,’ said Ginny, ‘and check out Phoebe Swift’s shop, Village Vintage, in Blackheath, if you want to know’ – she leaned into the mic – ‘the way we
wore
.’ Ginny gave me a warm smile. ‘Phoebe Swift – thanks.’

Mum phoned me as I was walking towards the tube. She’d been listening at work. ‘You were terrific,’ she enthused. ‘I was gripped. So how did that come about?’

‘Through that newspaper interview. The one that chap Dan did on the day of the party. Do you remember him? He was leaving just as you arrived.’

‘I know – the badly dressed man with the curly hair. I like curly hair on a man,’ Mum added, ‘it’s unusual.’

‘Yes, Mum; anyway, the radio producer happened to read it, and as he was planning to do something on vintage for Fashion Week he phoned me.’

I suddenly realised that nearly all of the helpful things that had happened lately had come about through Dan’s piece. It had brought Annie into the shop, and it had led me to Mrs Bell, and now to this radio opportunity, quite apart from all the customers who’d come in because they’d read it. I felt a sudden rush of warmth towards him.

‘I’m not going to have Fraxel,’ I heard Mum say.

‘Thank goodness.’

‘I’m going to have “Radiofrequency Rejuvenation” instead.’

‘What’s that?’

‘They heat up the deeper layer of your skin with lasers, and that shrinks everything so that it doesn’t sag so much. Basically, they cook your face. Betty from my bridge circle’s had it. She’s thrilled – except that she said it was like having cigarettes stubbed out on her cheeks for an hour and a half.’

‘What torture. And how does Betty look now?’

‘To be honest, exactly the same; but
she’s
convinced she looks younger, so it was obviously worth it.’ I considered the logic of this. ‘Oh, I’d better go, Phoebe – John’s waving at me …’

I pushed on the door of the shop. Annie looked up from her repair.

‘I only heard half the programme, I’m afraid, because I had a brush with a shoplifter.’

My heart skipped a beat. ‘What happened?’

‘As I was fiddling with the radio this man tried to slip
one of the crocodile-skin wallets into his pocket.’ Annie nodded at the basket of wallets and purses I keep on the counter. ‘Luckily I glanced into the mirror at the critical moment, so at least I didn’t have to chase after him down the street.’

‘Did you call the police?’

She shook her head. ‘He begged me not to, but I told him that if I ever saw him in here again I would. Then I had this woman …’ Annie rolled her eyes. ‘She picked up the Bill Gibb silver lace mini-dress, slapped it on the counter and said she’d give me twenty quid for it.’

‘Damn cheek!’

‘So I explained that at
£
80 the dress was already very reasonable, and that if she wanted to haggle she should go to the souk.’ I snorted with laughter. ‘Then I had a bit of a thrill – Chloë Sevigny came in. She’s filming in South London – we had a nice chat about acting.’

‘She wears a lot of vintage, doesn’t she – and did she buy anything?’

‘One of the Jean-Paul Gaultier Body Map tops. Now I’ve got some messages for you.’ Annie picked up a piece of paper. ‘Dan phoned – he’s got the tickets for
Anna
Karenina
next Wednesday and says he’ll meet you outside the Greenwich Picturehouse at seven.’

‘
Will
he now …?’

Annie glanced at me. ‘Aren’t you going?’

‘I wasn’t sure … but … well, it seems I am, doesn’t it?’ I added irritably.

Annie gave me a puzzled look. ‘Then Val rang – she’s finished your repairs and says please can you collect them. And there was a message on the answerphone from a Rick Diaz in New York.’

‘He’s my American dealer.’

‘He’s got some more prom dresses for you.’

‘Great – we need them for the party season.’

‘We do. He added that he’s got some bags he’d like you to take.’

I groaned. ‘I’ve got
hundreds
of bags.’

‘I know – but he says please can you e-mail him. Then, last but not least –
these
arrived.’ Annie disappeared into the kitchen and came out carrying a bouquet of red roses so huge it obscured her top half.

I stared at them.

‘Three dozen,’ I heard her say from behind the flowers. ‘Are they from this chap Dan?’ she asked as I unpinned the envelope and took out the card. ‘Not that your personal life is any of my business,’ she added as she put the roses on the counter.

Love Miles
. Was that a salutation or a command? I wondered.

‘They’re from someone I’ve met quite recently,’ I said to Annie. ‘In fact, I met him at the Christie’s auction.’

‘Really?’

‘He’s called Miles.’

‘Is he nice?’

‘Seems to be.’

‘And what does he do?’

‘He’s a solicitor.’

‘A successful one, judging by the flowers he sends. And how old is he?’

‘Forty-eight.’

‘
Ah
.’ Annie raised an eyebrow. ‘So he’s vintage, too.’

I nodded. ‘Circa 1960. A bit of wear and tear … a few creases …’

‘But plenty of character?’

‘I think so … I’ve only met him three times.’

‘Well, he’s clearly smitten so I hope you’re going to see him again.’

‘Perhaps.’ I didn’t want to admit that I’d be seeing Miles this very weekend, in Provence.

‘Would you like me to put them in a vase for you?’

‘Yes, please.’

She cut the ribbon. ‘In fact, I’ll need two vases.’

I took off my coat. ‘By the way, you’re still okay to work on Friday and Saturday, aren’t you?’

‘I am,’ Annie replied as she removed the cellophane. ‘But you will definitely be back by Tuesday?’

‘I’m returning on Monday evening. Why?’

Annie was stripping off the lower leaves with a pair of scissors. ‘I’ve got another audition on Tuesday morning, so I won’t be able to get here until after lunch. I’ll make up the time on the Friday, if that’s okay?’

‘That would be fine. What’s the audition for?’ I asked with a sinking heart.

‘Regional rep,’ she replied wearily. ‘Three months in Stoke-on-Trent.’

‘Well … fingers crossed,’ I said disingenuously, then I felt guilty about hoping that Annie would fail. But it would only be a matter of time before she did get a job and then …

My train of thought was interrupted by the bell. And I was just going to leave Annie to it when I saw who the customer was.

‘Hi,’ said the red-haired girl who’d tried on the lime green cupcake dress nearly three weeks ago.

‘Hi,’ Annie replied warmly as she put half the roses
in a vase. The girl stood staring at the green cupcake dress, then she slowly closed her eyes. ‘Thank God,’ she breathed. ‘It’s still here.’

‘It’s still here,’ Annie echoed cheerfully as she put the first vase on the centre table.

‘I was convinced it wouldn’t be,’ the girl said, turning to me now. ‘I almost couldn’t bear to come in, in case it had sold.’

‘We have sold two of those prom dresses recently, but not your one – I mean that one,’ I corrected myself. ‘The green one.’

‘I’ll have it,’ she said happily.

‘Really?’ As I unhooked it from the wall I noticed how much more self-confident the girl seemed than when she’d come in with … what was his name?

‘Keith didn’t like it.’ The girl opened her bag. ‘But I loved it.’ She looked at me. ‘And he knew that. I don’t need to try it on again,’ she added as I hung the dress in the changing room. ‘It’s perfect.’

‘It is perfect,’ I said. ‘On you. I’m thrilled you’ve come back for it,’ I confided as I took it to the till. ‘When a garment suits a customer as well as this suited you, then I really want them to have it. Have you got some glamorous party to wear it to?’ I thought of her looking dismal in black at the Dorchester with the vile Keith and his ‘top people’.