The Look of Love (17 page)

‘Not yet. I keep hoping to get Bella on her own in a quiet moment, but there hasn’t been one. Her house is in chaos just now with this TV thing going on. There are people in and out of the place all the time. How about you? Have you said anything to yours?’

Dennis laughed. ‘I tried to! I was dying to – and trying to – over Sunday lunch at Harriet’s, but every time I thought there was a chance to talk properly to her, one of the children would play up and she’d be distracted. Her gormless lump of a husband doesn’t seem to have any input with the domestic routine so there she was, organizing the entire meal and dealing with the twins at the same time. I think his only contribution was to point out rather sardonically that five seemed to be a “difficult age”. I told him to wait till they were fifteen, but Harriet gave me a look. I don’t think she wants her husband to see nothing but years of trouble ahead in case he does a runner. No great loss that would be, if you ask me. He only cares about golf and Formula One and his God-awful estate agency.
Exclusive and superior properties
. Ye gods – you can really only say it in a Hyacinth Bucket accent.’

Shirley could hear a distant busker, playing ‘Like A Rolling Stone’. In her opinion not an easy number to do if you weren’t actually Bob Dylan himself.

‘Do you remember,’ she said, momentarily diverted from their conversation, ‘way back when Dylan was known as Bobby Dylan, rather than Bob? Of course that didn’t last. I remember when he was such a new phenomenon; down at
Les Cousins
we used to argue over our pints of Guinness about whether he was a genuine poet or an upstart pretender.’

‘He was so very young, wasn’t he?’ Dennis said. ‘That was about when I worked out I’d never change the world with my own written words, when someone ten years younger could write with so little seeming effort. Harriet’s keen on him, surprisingly. But then I suppose he’s one of the few who’ve accumulated fans through the generations. Leonard Cohen’s another one.’

‘Maybe that’s how we tell our families,’ Shirley laughed. ‘We wait for one of those two to come over here again, get a load of tickets and let Bella, Harriet and your Toby bond in the O2.’

‘Or we just
tell
them. Next time we see them. Just come out with “by the way, I’m seeing someone.”’ He squeezed her hand tighter and smiled at her. ‘Someone very, very special.’

‘It should be so easy, shouldn’t it? After all, we’re single adults who don’t have to answer to anyone. And you’re right, Dennis, this is
so
special. I feel like a young girl again – and it’s showing. I might not have had the chance to tell Bella, but Molly knows. She could tell just by looking that there was something going on in my life. She even asked if I was sleeping with you!’

Dennis stopped mid-pavement and looked at her, astonished. ‘Good heavens! Did you tell her you were?’

‘Of course I did. Why lie? I’m not embarrassed about it!’

‘No, but I bet she was. Wasn’t she horrified at the very
idea? She must think people our age shut up shop years ago, if they’d allow that we ever discovered sex at all, that is. As we said before, how little they know, bless them.’

‘She didn’t seem to be surprised or shocked or anything. If she was, she had the good manners not to show it, but at seventeen if their reaction is “yuck” they usually come straight out with it!’

They’d reached the Globe theatre. Outside were posters advertising the forthcoming season of plays.

‘We could go to something here, if you like,’ Dennis said, as they scanned through the list. ‘Is there anything you fancy?’

‘I’d quite like to see
Doctor Faustus
,’ Shirley told him, ‘but … it’s not on till late November. Won’t it be cold in there, having no roof? I’m imagining a frosty night – or a chill damp fog; fingers and toes going numb even with furry boots and the warmth of the audience.’

‘We could go well prepared, with picnic blankets and a flask of hot tea?’

Shirley thought for a moment, then said, ‘Hmm. I’m not sure. I think … I much prefer doing that kind of outdoor thing in warmer weather. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on the stage if I’m thinking about my freezing toes. Do you mind?’

Dennis put his arm round her. ‘Of course I don’t. We’ll come here and see something in midsummer
instead. For now, though … do you fancy retiring to the hotel for a nice little afternoon nap?’

‘With eclairs?’ Shirley giggled.

‘Eclairs and a glass or two of bubbles, definitely.’

‘Oh then I do, I do …’

‘Colour, shape, accessories and make-up. And of course the make-up aspect includes hair,’ Daisy said, fixing her gaze on the hectic shambles that was Dina’s crowning glory. ‘Colour comes first because without knowing how to make the best choices there, nothing else can fall into place. You can wear the most gorgeous little Prada number, absolutely right for your body, showing you off to perfection but if it’s the wrong colour for you, you will look merely ill. So to start with, you will all be colour-analysed. Filming will of course be going on throughout the process and I promise,’ she showed her gleaming teeth but Bella wouldn’t have quite defined it as a smile, ‘it won’t be at all traumatic. We are not here to make you look idiots.’

‘Well that’s a relief,’ Jules said, helping herself to another chocolate brownie. Dominic leaned across the table and, without a word, slid it out of her hand and returned it to the plate. Jules gave him a defiant look, picked up the brownie again and took a deliberately oversize bite. Bella tried not to giggle. Oh, this was going to be such a hoot to write about.

‘Next we move on to
shape
. Possibly the most important aspect of this whole venture. Now the shape for next season is
egg
,’ Daisy stated with profound solemnity, as if she were the Chancellor of the Exchequer making a life-changing budget announcement. Bella watched as Fliss wrote down ‘EGG!’ on her pink notepad and then embellished the word with three different-coloured felt-tips.

Phyl spluttered into her coffee. ‘
Egg
? What in the name of buggery do you mean by
egg
?’

Dominic turned in his seat and stared at her. Phyl shifted slightly, waiting for him to speak, but he merely continued his gaze.

Daisy frowned, not at all pleased to be laughed at. She took a deep breath. ‘I realize
egg
isn’t the easiest shape to work with but, believe me, I’ve dressed some tricky figures in my time and honestly, hand on heart, I can say that any season’s must-have shape can, with a bit of give and take, be made to work for anyone.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ Phyl said, ‘but why do we have to “work” with a “season’s shape” at all? What’s wrong with
just clothes
, for heaven’s sake?’

‘Phyllis, darling,’ Daisy cut in, ‘first let me say, I
love
your chick-biker look but without being tricksy, I don’t think you’ve quite grasped what we’re here to achieve …’

Phyl pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘It’s
Phyllida, actually. And I’m dressed as a “chick biker” because I ride a great big bike – practical clothes for practical reasons, you see? And no, I think you might be right. I don’t think I’ve quite grasped it at all. You said you weren’t going to make us look like idiots and then calmly announce that we’re going to be dressed as Humpty Dumpty? Right. I’ll go outside now, if you don’t mind, and have a smoke. And while I’m out there I promise I’ll do my best to come to terms with this
grasping the concept of egg
. Lovely brownies, Bella my darling, you must give me the recipe.’ She gave Dominic a final glare as she left the room.

‘And then there were four …’ Daisy sighed, because Phyl had gone out via the front door and soon after there was the unmistakable sound of her Harley-Davidson revving up and pulling out of the driveway. ‘I have a feeling we won’t be seeing the return of Phyll
ida
any time soon. Anyone else want to quit while we’re about it? We can
just
afford to lose one more but if anyone else bunks off, then that’s it. Show over unless we go out on the street and round up a few more. But the whole point of this is not random strangers, but people who know and support each other.’ Dominic, beside her, patted her gently on her feather-clad shoulder.

‘Um …’ Zoe ventured, half putting up her hand like a nervous child in school. ‘Actually the nanny walked
out this morning. And I’m a little bit pregnant and feeling awful. And Calypso is coming up for her SATs and needs all my help. Time-wise, I thought I’d manage, but now I’m here and I’ve heard what this will involve, I’m wondering about it.’

‘Just a tip, sweetie.’ Daisy smiled at her. ‘When making excuses, only use one. Anything more is gilding an already dazzling lily.’

‘So I can go?’ Zoe sounded as if she were asking to be allowed off games.

‘Of
course
, darling! You’re not under house arrest! And good luck with the nanny and the SATs thing. I promise, I
do
so totally understand! Our children come first, always.’

Bella felt confused – this sweet, understanding side of Daisy was quite unexpected. Why did people do this? Or was their very unpredictability what made the human race so fascinating? All the same, on balance she thought she preferred to know where she stood with people. Anything else (and that cheating lust-rat Rick came to mind) was too wearying.

After Zoe had gone, Daisy’s smile looked genuine for the first time. ‘Now
that
one I really didn’t need!’ she said. ‘I’d already got Bella down as the token borderline reasonable-looking one. Zoe was frankly superfluous to requirements.
Very
cute in that wholesome Fulham sort of way, if a tad Stepford Wife meets Pollyanna. That one
will never dress in anything but virtuous Boden and Brora and yet
still
manage to make everyone think she’s stylish.’ She shook her head and her ponytail swung against her ears. ‘Quite an achievement, that. So very few can pull it off. I had very little idea quite what to do with her. OK, on to accessories now. Dominic? Over to you, or shall I?’

‘Armour,’ he stated, the unaccustomed sound of his voice rather surprising everyone. ‘It is important to think of accessories as armour …’

‘Oh it’s good to escape!’ Bella said, settling into the passenger seat of Saul’s little Mercedes. ‘I was close to quitting along with Zoe and Phyl!’

‘No! Please, Bella, you can’t back out now – I’m counting on you as an ally.’

‘Against Daisy? But I’m terrified of her.’

‘Oh that’s normal, everyone is,’ he laughed. ‘I think probably the kindest way to sum her up is “mercurial”.’

‘Hmm. Sometimes she’s just plain rude, if you don’t mind me saying. I mean, I assume she’s a friend of yours so this is me being tactful, but to be honest I prefer people who are easier to know. I just don’t have a clue where I am with her. One minute she’s being quite vile and I think, that’s
it
– I don’t need to put up with this, and then the next minute she’s all sweet and rather lovely.’

‘Part of her never-ending charm. She throws you to the sharks then chucks a lifebelt out after.’

‘If you’re trying to say she’s got a soft centre, then I’d say it was very deeply buried. And what’s with Dominic? How can he put up with her?’ Bella asked.

‘By being silent, I think, and letting her do the talking for both of them. As a team, that seems to be how it works. And by him being completely devoted to her. She inspires a massive amount of loyalty, does Daisy, once she’s let people get through that shell,’ Saul said quietly, turning off the road and in through huge metal gates covered in warning signs about alarm systems. Bella wondered if she was being slightly told off. Well, she wasn’t going to apologize, because Daisy had come across, so far, as about eighty per cent vixen. How was Bella supposed to presume there was a Nice Side if Daisy wasn’t going to show it?

‘OK, we’re here,’ Saul said. ‘It’s not exactly West London’s most attractive building but, as Daisy definitely
wouldn’t
say, it’s what’s on the inside that counts.’

Saul was right – the vast blue corrugated shed, placed unromantically among industrial ugliness between railway lines on the edge of Willesden, wasn’t where anyone would normally expect to find the most extensive selection of contemporary furnishings, including those of the most prestigious designers. Once
on the inside, Bella and Saul were faced with acres and acres of all kinds of furniture. The first section they passed through looked like a series of office-reception areas, each being a grouping of sofas and tables and desks from differing periods. A few people were actually working at some of them, admin staff making practical use of the kit till someone needed to hire it.

‘So what do they do if someone suddenly wants to rent it?’ Bella asked, watching a girl munching a sandwich while working on an Apple Mac at an incongruously manky desk that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the prison governor’s office in
Porridge
.

‘Move all their stuff to the next unit, I expect,’ Saul told her, waving to one of the staff further up the warehouse. ‘It must be quite fun, wondering where to set your work up each day, but a pain if it disappears suddenly when you’d just got comfortable. But here, up these stairs – come and look at this lot.’

He pushed open a swing door and led Bella up two flights of stairs. The stairwell walls were densely covered in framed pictures: sundry seaside scenes, landscapes, a collection of child portraits, Hogarthesque etchings, abstracts. Then they went through another door. ‘This isn’t where we need to be, but I thought you might like to see some of the oddities of this place,’ Saul said. ‘It’s a complete museum of ephemera in here.’

It was, Bella thought, laid out like a supermarket full of madness. Instead of food on the near-endless rows of shelves, the place was crammed with
things
– everything anyone could possibly need to dress a drama from early twentieth century onwards.

‘This place doesn’t do the antique stuff. All the prop houses have their specialities,’ Saul explained as Bella walked around, exploring. On one shelf was a row of bubble-gum vending machines, maybe fifty different sorts. Old radios, kitchen blenders, Barbie dolls, shop tills, kettles, lamps (standard and table), were lined up. There was an island with at least a hundred vacuum cleaners of varying vintage and, behind a selection of early sixties Formica-topped tables, a corner floor area bizarrely populated with stuffed animals.