A Vintage Affair (24 page)

I quickly read through the piece myself, then I remembered Keith’s quotes in the
Guardian
about how ‘devastated’ he’d been as he watched his warehouse burn, and how he had ‘vowed to build something worthwhile out of the ashes’. It had all felt a bit phoney, and now I knew why.

‘I wonder how the
Black & Green
got the story,’ I said to Annie.

‘Presumably because the insurers, having been suspicious all along, have just come up with this “compelling evidence”, whatever it is.’

‘But why would they take it to a local newspaper? Surely they’d go straight to the police.’

‘Ah.’ Annie clicked her tongue. ‘Good point.’

So this must have been the ‘difficult’ business story that Dan had been working on – the one that Matt had phoned him about when Dan and I were sitting in the Age Exchange.

‘I hope the girlfriend isn’t going to stand by him,’ I heard Annie say. ‘Mind you, she can always visit him in prison in her green prom dress, looking like “Bloody Tinker Bell”.’ She giggled. ‘And speaking of prom dresses, Phoebe – have you e-mailed your American dealer yet?’

‘No – I need to do that, don’t I?’ I’d been so pre occupied with Monique that I’d forgotten.

‘You do need to,’ Annie said. ‘The party season’s coming up – plus prom dresses are “in” this season according to
Vogue
– the more petticoats the better.’

‘I’ll e-mail him now.’

I went back to the computer and opened Outlook Express to contact Rick, only to find that he’d got there first. I clicked on his e-mail.

Hi Phoebe – I left a message on your phone the other
day to say that I’ve got six more prom dresses to offer
you, all top quality and in perfect condition
. I clicked on the photos. They were lovely cupcakes in vibrant shades that would be perfect for the autumn – indigo, vermillion, tangerine, cocoa, deep purple and kingfisher blue. I zoomed in on the images to check whether the net looked faded anywhere, then I clicked back on the text.
Also attached is the jpeg of the purses – sorry, ‘bags’
– that I mentioned and which I want to include with
the dresses, as a job lot
…

‘Damn,’ I murmured. I didn’t want them, especially with the pound having fallen so much against the dollar lately; but I realised I might have to buy them in case Rick stopped sending me the things that I did like. ‘Let’s have a look then,’ I said wearily.

The bags had been photographed together on a white sheet and were mostly from the eighties and nineties. They were fairly ordinary, apart from a very handsome leather Gladstone bag probably from the 1940s and an elegant white ostrich-skin envelope clutch from the early seventies.

‘How much does he want?’ I murmured.
The deal is
$800 US, inclusive of shipping
.

I clicked on reply.
Okay, Rick
, I typed.
It’s a deal. I’ll
pay you by Paypal when I get your invoice. Please send
everything asap. Cheers, Phoebe
.

‘I’ve just bought six more prom dresses,’ I told Annie as I went back into the shop.

She was changing one of the mannequins. ‘That’s good news – they should be easy to sell.’

‘I’ve also bought twelve bags: most of which I don’t want – but I have to have them as they’re the quid pro quo.’

‘There’s not much space up there in the stockroom,’ she said as she re-positioned the mannequin’s arms.

‘I know; so when they arrive I’ll just give the non-vintage ones to Oxfam. But now I’m going to post the Madame Grès.’

I went into the office and quickly wrapped the dress up in tissue paper with a white ribbon then put it in a jiffy bag. Then I turned the ‘Closed’ sign on the door to ‘Open’. ‘See you later Annie.’

As I left the shop my mother phoned. She’d just got to work. ‘I’ve decided,’ she whispered.

‘Decided what?’ I asked as I turned down Montpelier Vale.

‘To forget about all these silly treatments I’ve been looking into – all this plasma regeneration and fractional resurfacing and radiofrequency rejuvenation nonsense.’

I glanced into the window of the beauty salon. ‘That is such good news, Mum.’

‘I don’t think they’re going to make the slightest difference.’

‘I’m sure that’s right,’ I said as I crossed the road.

‘And they cost so much.’

‘They do – it would be a complete waste of money.’

‘Exactly. So I’ve decided I may as well go straight for a facelift.’

I stopped dead. ‘Mum …
Don’t
.’

‘I’m going to have a facelift,’ she repeated quietly as
I stood by the sports and kite shop. ‘I’m terribly low and it’ll give me a boost. It’ll be my sixtieth birthday gift to myself, Phoebe. I’ve worked all these years,’ she added as I walked on. ‘So why shouldn’t I have a little cosmetic “refreshment” if I want to?’

‘No reason, Mum – it’s your life. But what if you’re not happy with it?’ I had visions of my mother’s pretty face looking grotesquely stretched or oddly lumpy and bumpy.

‘I’ve done my research,’ I heard her say as I passed the toy shop. ‘Yesterday I took the day off work and had consultations with three plastic surgeons. I’ve now decided that Freddie Church is going to wield the scalpel, at his clinic in Maida Vale: it’s all booked for November 24th.’ I wondered whether Mum had remembered that that was Louis’ first birthday. ‘And don’t try to talk me out of it, darling, because my mind’s made up. I’ve paid my deposit and I’m going ahead with it.’

‘Okay.’ I sighed as I crossed the road. There was no point in protesting – once Mum had decided on something she stuck to it; plus I had a lot on my mind and lacked the energy for a fight. ‘I only hope you don’t come to regret it.’

‘I won’t. But, tell me, how’s your new man? Is that still going on?’

‘I’m seeing him tomorrow. We’re going to the Almeida Theatre.’

‘Well, you seem to like him, so please don’t do any thing silly. I mean, you’re
thirty-four
now,’ Mum added, as I turned into Blackheath Grove. ‘Before you know where you are, you’ll be forty-three –’

‘Sorry, Mum, I have to go now.’ I snapped shut the
phone. The Post Office was empty so it only took two minutes to post my parcel. As I walked out again I saw Dan coming towards me, smiling. But then today he had something to smile about.

‘I was just looking out of the window and saw you.’ He nodded up at his office, above the children’s library on our right.

I followed his gaze. ‘So that’s where you are – very central. Congrat ulations, by the way – I’ve just read your scoop.’

‘It’s not my scoop,’ Dan replied judiciously. ‘It’s Matt’s – I just sat in on the talks with the lawyers. But it’s a fantastic story for a local paper like ours. We’re all a bit cock-a-hoop about it.’

‘I’m dying to know who you got it from,’ I said. ‘Not that you can reveal your sources … Can you?’ I added hopefully.

Dan smiled then shook his head. ‘’Fraid not.’

‘I feel sorry for his girlfriend though. Plus she’ll probably lose her job.’

Dan shrugged. ‘She’ll get another one – she’s very young. I’ve seen photos of her,’ he added. Then he asked me about France, reminding me that I’d said I’d go to the cinema with him again. ‘I don’t suppose you’re free tomorrow night, are you, Phoebe? I know it’s short notice, but I’ve been very preoccupied with the Brown story. We could go and see the new Coen brothers film – or just have dinner somewhere.’

‘Well …’ I looked at him. ‘That would have been great. But I’m … doing something.’

‘Oh.’ Dan smiled at me ruefully. ‘But then, why wouldn’t a girl like you be busy on a Saturday night?’
He sighed. ‘More fool me. I should have asked you before. So … are you seeing someone then, Phoebe?’

‘Well … I …
Dan
,’ I said, ‘you’re discom bobulating me again.’

‘Oh. Sorry.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t seem to be able to help it. But, look, did you get the invitation for the eleventh? I sent it to the shop.’

‘Yes, I got it yesterday.’

‘Well, you said you’d be there so I hope you’ll come.’

I looked at Dan. ‘Yes. I will.’

This morning I found it hard to concentrate on work because I kept thinking about Miles and about how much I was looking forward to seeing him at the theatre. We were going to see
Waste
by Harley Granville-Barker. In between customers I read a couple of reviews of it online, partly to remind myself of the plot – I saw it years ago – and partly so that I’d be able to impress Miles with my trenchant remarks. But then the shop became very busy, as it always is on Saturdays. I sold Mrs Bell’s Guy Laroche cocoon coat – I was almost sorry to see it go – and a Zandra Rhodes apricot silk organza tunic with gold beading at the hem. Then someone asked to try on the yellow prom dress; it would be the third time it had been tried on in a week. As the woman went into the fitting room I glanced anxiously at her figure and realised that it would probably fit her. As I drew the curtain round I prayed that she wouldn’t like it. I heard the rustle of the tulle then the sound of the zip being pulled up, followed by a little grunt.

‘I
love
it!’ I heard her exclaim. The woman opened the curtain again then gazed at herself in the mirror,
turning this way and that. ‘It’s fabulous,’ she said as she stood on tiptoe. ‘I adore the froth and sparkle of it.’ She beamed at me. ‘I’ll take it!’

My heart sank as I imagined Katie’s disappointment. I thought of her taking the photo of the dress, and now I remembered how lovely she had looked in it – ten times more attractive than this woman, who was too old for it, and not slim enough with her fleshy white shoulders and plump arms.

The woman turned to her friend. ‘Don’t you think it’s fab, Sue?’

Sue, who was tall and angular – a Modigliani to her friend’s fleshy Rubens – was chewing on her lower lip, making little sucking noises. ‘Well … to be honest, Jill, sweetheart, I don’t. Your skin tone’s too pale for it, plus the bodice is tight – look – which makes you bulge at the back, here –’ She turned her friend round. Jill could now see that a good half-inch of fat spilled over the stiffened panels, like dough.

Sue cocked her head to one side. ‘You know those puddings you can get – a frozen lemon that’s been stuffed with sorbet that’s sort of squishing out of the top of it …?’

‘Yes?’ said Jill.

‘Well, you look like one of those.’

I held my breath to see how Jill reacted. She stared at herself then nodded slowly. ‘You’re right, Sue. Cruel – but right.’

‘What are best friends for?’ said Sue amiably. She flashed me a guilty smile. ‘Sorry – I just lost you a sale.’

‘That’s okay,’ I said delightedly. ‘It’s got to be perfect, hasn’t it? Anyway, I’ll be getting some more prom dresses
soon, so one of those might be a better fit – they should be here next week.’

‘We’ll be back.’

Once the women had gone I put the yellow dress on the ‘reserved’ rail with ‘Katie’ on it – my nerves wouldn’t take any more fittings. Then I brought down a Lanvin Castillo raspberry pink silk evening gown from the mid 1950s and hung it on the wall in its place.

I closed the shop at 5.30 on the dot then sped home to shower and change before rushing up to Islington to meet Miles. As I half ran down Almeida Street I saw him standing outside the theatre, looking out for me. As he saw me he lifted his hand.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ I said breathlessly. The bell was ringing. ‘Is that the five-minute bell?’

‘It’s the one minute.’ He kissed me. ‘I was worried that you weren’t going to come.’

I slipped my arm through his. ‘Of course I was.’ I found Miles’ anxiety touching and as we went inside I wondered whether it was prompted by the fourteen years between us, or whether he always felt a little insecure when he liked someone, whatever their age.

‘It’s a good play,’ he said an hour or so later as the house lights went up for the interval. We stood up. ‘I’ve seen it before – years ago, at the National. I think it was in ’91.’

‘It
was
, because I also saw that production – with my school.’ I remembered Emma coming back for the second half reeking of gin.

Miles laughed. ‘So you would have been Roxy’s age; and I’d have been thirty-one – a young man. I’d have fallen in love with you then too.’

I smiled. And now we made our way into the foyer, then drifted towards the bar with everyone else.

‘I’ll get drinks,’ I said. ‘What would you like?’

‘A glass of Côtes du Rhône, if they have one.’

I looked at the board. ‘They do. I think I’ll have the Sancerre.’ As I stood at the bar, Miles waited a little way behind me. ‘Phoebe …’ I heard him whisper after a few moments. I turned round. He was suddenly looking uncomfortable and his face had reddened. ‘I’ll see you outside,’ he murmured.

‘Fine,’ I replied, bemused …

‘Are you okay?’ I asked him when I found him a few minutes later standing by the entrance. I handed him his glass of wine. ‘I was worried that you might be unwell.’

He shook his head. ‘I’m okay. But … as you were waiting to be served I spotted some people I wanted to avoid.’

‘Really?’ My curiosity was aroused. ‘Who?’ Miles discreetly nodded towards the far end of the foyer at a blonde forty-something woman in a turquoise wrap and a sandy-haired man in a dark coat. ‘Who are they?’ I asked him quietly.

Miles pursed his mouth. ‘Their name’s Wycliffe. Their daughter’s at Roxy’s old school.’ He sighed. ‘It’s just not a great … connection.’

‘I see,’ I said, remembering now that Miles had said that there’d been some ‘misunderstanding’ at St Mary’s. Whatever it was, it still had the power to upset him. Hearing the bell for the second half, we went back to our seats.

Afterwards, while we were waiting to cross the road
to the restaurant opposite the theatre, I saw Mrs Wycliffe give Miles a sideways glance then discreetly tug at her husband’s sleeve. As we started dinner I asked Miles what the Wycliffes had done that had so offended him.

‘They were awful to Roxy. In fact it was very… unpleasant.’ As he lifted his glass of water his hand was shaking.

‘Why?’ I asked. Miles hesitated. ‘Didn’t the girls get on?’

‘Oh they did.’ Miles lowered his glass. ‘In fact Roxy and Clara had been best friends. Then at the start of the summer term there was … a falling out.’ I looked at Miles, wondering why this would have upset him quite so much. ‘Something of Clara’s went missing,’ Miles explained. ‘A … gold bracelet. Clara accused Roxy of having taken it.’ Miles pursed his mouth again, the muscles at the side of his mouth flexing.