A Vintage Affair (34 page)

I looked at her blankly. I’d been too distracted even to think about it. ‘We do need to put some up – but vintage ones.’

‘Paperchains,’ Annie suggested as she glanced round the shop. ‘Silver and gold ones. I can pop into John Lewis when I go to Tottenham Court Road for my audition. We should also get some holly – I’ll bring some back from the florists by the station; and we’ll need some Christmas lights.’

‘My mother’s got some lovely old ones,’ I said. ‘Elegant gold and white angels and stars. I’ll ask her if we can borrow them.’

‘Of course you can,’ Mum said when I phoned her a few minutes later. ‘In fact I’ll look them out now and bring them over – it’s not as though I’m doing much at the moment.’ Mum had decided to continue with the charade that she was on holiday.

She arrived an hour later clutching a large cardboard box and we ran the strings of lights along the front of the windows.

‘They’re lovely,’ Annie said as we switched them on.

‘They were
my
parents’ lights,’ Mum explained. ‘They bought them when I was a child in the early fifties. They’ve had new plugs but have otherwise lasted: in fact, they look good for their age.’

‘Excuse me for being personal, Mrs Swift,’ said Annie, ‘but so do you. I know I’ve only met you a couple of times, but you look amazing at the moment. Have you got a new hair style or something?’

‘No.’ Mum looked happy but bewildered as she patted her blonde waves. ‘It’s exactly the same.’

‘Well …’ Annie shrugged. ‘You look great.’ She went and got her jacket. ‘I’d better get going, Phoebe.’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘What’s it for this time?’

‘Children’s theatre.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘
Llamas in
Pajamas
.’

‘I told you Annie’s an actress, didn’t I, Mum?’

‘You did.’

‘I’m fed up with it though,’ Annie said. She picked up her bag. ‘I really want to write my own show – I’m researching some stories at the moment.’

I wished I could tell her the story I knew…

As Annie left, Mum began to look through the rails. ‘These clothes
are
rather lovely. I used to dislike the idea of wearing vintage, didn’t I, Phoebe? I was quite dismissive about it.’

‘You were. Why don’t you try something on?’

Mum smiled. ‘All right then. I do like this.’ She took the Jacques Fath 1950s coatdress with a pattern of little palm trees off the rail and went into the changing room with it. A minute later she pulled back the calico curtain.

‘That’s lovely on you, Mum. You’re slim, so you can wear that fitted look – it’s very elegant.’

Mum gazed at her reflection with an air of delighted surprise. ‘It does look nice.’ She fingered a sleeve. ‘And the fabric’s so … interesting.’ She looked at herself again then drew the curtain. ‘But I’m not buying anything at the moment. It’s been a very expensive few weeks.’

As the shop was quiet Mum stayed for a chat. ‘You know, Phoebe,’ she said as she sat on the sofa. ‘I don’t think I’ll be going back to Freddie Church.’

I sighed with relief. ‘That sounds like a good decision.’

‘Even at twenty-five per cent off, it’s still
£
6,000. I
could
afford it, just, but now somehow, it seems such a waste of money.’

‘In your case, Mum, it would be, yes.’

Mum looked at me. ‘I’ve come round more to your way of thinking on the subject, Phoebe.’

‘Why?’ I asked, though I knew.

‘It’s since last week,’ she replied quietly. ‘Since meeting Louis.’ She shook her head, wonderingly. ‘Some of my bitterness and sadness just …
went
.’

I leaned against the counter. ‘And how did you feel, seeing Dad?’

‘Well …’ Mum sighed. ‘I felt all right about that too. Perhaps because I was touched by how much he loves Louis, I couldn’t feel angry. Somehow everything looks so much …
better
now.’ I suddenly saw what Annie had seen – that Mum
did
look different; her features had somehow relaxed and she looked prettier and yes, younger. ‘I’d love to see Louis again,’ she added softly.

‘Well, why shouldn’t you? Perhaps you could have lunch with Dad sometimes.’

Mum nodded slowly. ‘That’s what he said, when I left. Or perhaps I could come along when
you
visit him. We could all take Louis to the park – if Ruth didn’t mind.’

‘She’s so busy with her work, I doubt she’d care. Anyway, she’s grateful to you for what you did. Think of that nice letter she sent you.’

‘Yes, but that doesn’t mean she’d be happy for me to spend time with your dad.’

‘I don’t know – I think it might be okay.’

‘Well …’ Mum heaved a sigh. ‘We’ll see. And how’s Miles?’ I told Mum what had happened. Her face fell. ‘My father gave that ring to my mother when I was born; my mother gave it to me when I turned forty, and on your twenty-first birthday, Phoebe, I gave it to you.’ Mum was shaking her head. ‘That’s … heartbreaking. Well…’ She pursed her lips. ‘What a misguided man he must be – as a father, at least.’

‘I must say he’s not doing a great job with Roxy.’

‘Is there
any
way you might get the ring back?’

‘No – so I’m trying not to think about it.’

Mum was staring out of the window again. ‘There’s that man,’ she said.

‘Which man?’

‘The big, badly dressed one with the curly hair.’ I followed her gaze. Dan was walking along on the other side of the road and now he was crossing over, coming towards us. ‘On the other hand, I like curly hair on a man. It’s unusual.’

‘Yes.’ I smiled. ‘You’ve said that before.’ Dan pushed on the door of Village Vintage. ‘Hi, Dan,’ I said. ‘This is my mother.’

‘Really?’ He peered at Mum with a puzzled expression. ‘Not your older sister?’

Mum roared with laughter, and suddenly looked luminously beautiful. That was the only facelift she’d needed – a smile.

Now she was getting to her feet. ‘I’d better go, Phoebe. I’m meeting Betty from bridge for lunch at twelve thirty. Lovely to see you again, Dan.’ She gave us a wave and was gone.

Dan started riffling through the menswear rail.

‘Looking for anything in particular?’ I asked him with a smile.

‘Not really. I just thought I ought to come and spend a bit of money in here as I feel I owe my good fortune to this shop.’

‘That might be overstating it a bit, Dan.’

‘Not by much.’ He pulled out a jacket. ‘
This
is nice –
great
colour.’ He peered at it. ‘It’s a tasteful pale green, right?’

‘No. It’s bubblegum pink – Versace.’

‘Ah.’ He put it back.

‘This one would suit you.’ I held out a Brooks Brothers cashmere jacket in a dove grey. ‘It matches your eyes. And it should be big enough across the chest. It’s a 42.’

Dan tried it on then appraised his reflection. ‘I’ll take it,’ he said happily. ‘Then I was hoping you’d come and have a celebration lunch with me.’

‘Oh I’d love to Dan, but I never close at lunchtime.’

‘Well, for once why don’t you just do something that you never do? We’ll only be an hour – and we can go to Chapters wine bar so that you’re nearby.’

I picked up my bag. ‘Okay then – as it’s quiet. Why
not?’ I turned over the ‘Open’ sign then locked the door.

As Dan and I passed the church he talked about the sale of the
Black & Green
. ‘It’s fantastic for us,’ he said. ‘It’s what Matt and I hoped for: we wanted the paper to be a success so that it would get bought, and then we’d get our money back, hopefully with interest.’

‘Which I presume you have done?’

Dan grinned. ‘We’ve doubled our stake. Neither of us imagined that it would happen so fast, but the Phoenix story put us right on the map.’ We went into Chapters All Day Dining and were given a window table. Dan ordered two glasses of champagne.

‘What will happen to the paper now?’ I asked him.

He picked up the menu. ‘Nothing much, because Trinity Mirror want to keep it as it is. Matt will remain editor – he’s keeping a small shareholding; then the idea is to start up similar titles in other parts of South London. Everyone’s staying – except me.’

‘Why? You were enjoying it.’

‘I was. But now I’ll be able to do what I’ve always wanted to do.’

‘Which is what?’

‘Start my own cinema.’

‘But you have done.’

‘I mean a real one – an independent – showing new releases, of course, but with an equal emphasis on classic films, including unusual ones that are hard to see, like, I don’t know,
Peter Ibbetson
, a Gary Cooper film from 1934, or Fassbinder’s
The Bitter Tears of Petra Kant
. It would be like a mini British Film Institute, with talks and discussions.’ The waiter brought our champagne.

‘And with modern projection, presumably?’

Dan nodded. ‘The Bell and Howell’s just for fun. I’m going to start looking for premises after Christmas.’ We placed our order.

‘Good for you, Dan.’ I raised my glass. ‘Congratulations. You risked a lot.’

‘I did – but I knew Matt very well and trusted him to produce a good paper; and then we had that huge stroke of luck. So here’s to Village Vintage.’ Dan lifted his glass. ‘Thank you, Phoebe.’

‘Dan …’ I said after a moment. ‘I’m curious about something: on fireworks night you were telling me about your grandmother – that it was thanks to her that you were able to invest in the paper …’

‘That’s right – then you had to leave. Well, I think I told you that in addition to the silver pencil sharpener she left me a hideous painting.’

‘Yes.’

‘It was this horrible semi-abstract thing that she’d had hanging in her downstairs loo for thirty-five years.’

‘You said you felt a bit disappointed.’

‘I did. But a few weeks later I took off the brown paper in which it had been wrapped, and taped to the back of it was a letter to me from Granny in which she’d said she knew I’d always hated the picture, but that she thought it “might be worth something”. So I took it to Christie’s and discovered that it was by Erik Anselm – I hadn’t even known that much, as the signature was illegible.’

‘I’ve heard of Erik Anselm,’ I said as the waiter brought our plates of fish pie.

‘He was a younger contemporary of Rauschenberg
and Twombly. The woman at Christie’s got very excited when she saw it and said that Erik Anselm was being rediscovered and that in her view the painting might be worth as much as
£
300,000 …’ So that’s where the money had come from. ‘But it sold for
£
800,000.’

‘Good God. So your grandmother was generous to you after all.’

Dan picked up his fork. ‘Extremely generous.’

‘Did she collect art?’

‘No – she was a midwife. She said the painting had been given to her in the early seventies by a grateful husband after a particularly hazardous birth.’

I raided my glass again. ‘Well, here’s to Granny Robinson.’

Dan smiled. ‘I often drink to her – plus she was lovely. I used some of the money to buy my house,’ he went on as we ate our pie. ‘Then Matt told me that he was having trouble getting the capital he needed to start the
Black & Green
. I’d told him about my windfall and he asked me if I’d be prepared to invest in the paper, so I had a think then decided to go for it.’

I smiled. ‘A good decision.’

Dan nodded. ‘It was. Anyway… it’s so lovely to see you, Phoebe. I’ve hardly laid eyes on you lately.’

‘Well, I’ve been a bit preoccupied, Dan. But now I’m … fine.’ I lowered my fork. ‘Can I tell you something?’ He nodded. ‘I like your curly hair.’

‘You do?’

‘I do. It’s unusual.’ I glanced at my watch. ‘But I must go – my hour’s up. Thanks for lunch.’

‘It was nice to celebrate with you, Phoebe. Do you fancy a film sometime?’

‘Oh yes. Anything good coming on at the Robinson Rio?’

‘
A Matter of Life and Death
.’

I looked at Dan. ‘That sounds … great.’

So on Thursday I drove to Hither Green – and the shed was full, and Dan gave me a short preamble to the film, saying that it was a classic fantasy, romance and courtroom drama all rolled into one in which a World War 2 fighter pilot, cheats death. ‘Peter Carter is forced to bail out of his burning plane with no parachute and miraculously survives,’ Dan explained, ‘only to discover that this is due to a heavenly blunder which is about to be put right. In order to stay alive, so that he can be with the woman he loves, Peter pleads his case at the celestial Court of Appeal. But will he prevail?’ Dan went on. ‘And is what he sees real or only a hallucination caused by his injuries? You decide.’

He dimmed the lights and the curtains swished open.

Afterwards some of us stayed for supper and chatted about the film, and about the way Powell and Pressburger used both black and white and colour. ‘The fact that heaven is monochrome and the earth is Technicolor is meant to affirm the triumph of life over death,’ said Dan, ‘something a post-war audience would have felt very keenly.’

It had been a lovely evening and I drove home feeling happier than I had done for days.

The next morning Mum dropped in and said that she’d decided to buy the Jacques Fath coatdress after all. ‘Betty told me that she and Jim are having a Christmas drinks party on the twentieth, so I’d like a new outfit – a new
old
outfit,’ she corrected herself.

‘Old’s the new new,’ said Annie brightly.

Mum got out her credit-card holder, but I couldn’t bear the idea of taking money from her. ‘It can be an early birthday present,’ I said.

Mum shook her head. ‘This is your livelihood, Phoebe. You’ve worked so hard for it, added to which my birthday’s not for six weeks.’ She got out her Visa card. ‘It’s
£
250, isn’t it?’

‘Okay, but you get twenty per cent off, which makes it
£
200.’

‘That’s a bargain.’

‘Which reminds me,’ said Annie. ‘Are we going to have a January sale? People have been asking.’

‘I suppose we should,’ I replied as I folded Mum’s coatdress into a Village Vintage carrier. ‘Everyone else does, and it’ll be good for moving stock.’ I handed Mum her bag.

‘We could have a preview evening for it,’ Annie suggested. ‘Hype it up a bit. I do think we should find ways to promote the shop a bit more,’ she added as she tidied the gloves. I was always touched at the thought Annie put into making Village Vintage successful.