A Vintage Affair by Isabel Wolff Read Free Book Online Page B

I added. ‘Just to see how it would look with heels?’
    ‘Oh, I won’t need to,’ she said as she stared at herself, on tiptoe, in a side mirror. She shook her head. ‘It’s … fantastic.’ She seemed overwhelmed, as though she’d just discovered some wonderful secret about herself.
    Behind her another customer had come in – a slim, dark-haired woman of about thirty in a leopard-print shirtdress with a gold chain belt worn low on the hips and gladiator sandals. She stopped in her tracks, gazing at the girl. ‘You look glorious ,’ she exclaimed. ‘Like a young Julianne Moore.’
    The girl smiled delightedly. ‘Thanks.’ She stared at herself in the mirror again. ‘This dress makes me feel … as though I’m in …’ She hesitated. ‘A fairytale.’ She glanced nervously at her boyfriend. ‘What do you think, Keith?’
    He looked at her, shook his head then returned to his BlackBerry. ‘Like I say – much too bright. Plus it makes you look like you’re going to hop about in the ballet, not go to a sophisticated dinner dance at the Dorchester. Here –’ He stood up, went over to the evening rail and pulled out a Norman Hartnell black crepe cocktail dress and held it up to her. ‘Try this.’
    The girl’s face fell, but she retreated into the fitting room, emerging in the dress a minute later. The style was far too old for her and the colour drained her complexion. She looked as though she was going to a funeral. I saw the woman in the leopard-print dress glance at her then discreetly shake her head before turning back to the rails.
    ‘ That’s more like it,’ Keith said. He made a circulating gesture with his index finger and with a sigh the girl slowly spun round, her eyes upturned. At that I saw the other customer purse her lips. ‘Perfect,’ said Keith. He thrust his hand into his jacket. ‘How much?’ I glanced at the girl. Her mouth was quivering. ‘How much?’ he repeated as he opened his wallet.
    ‘But it’s the green one I like,’ she murmured.
    ‘How much ?’ he repeated.
    ‘It’s £ 150.’ I felt my face flush.
    ‘I don’t want it,’ the girl pleaded. ‘I like the green one, Keith. It makes me feel … happy.’
    ‘Then you’ll just have to buy it yourself. If you can afford it,’ he added pleasantly. He looked at me again. ‘So that’s £ 150?’ He tapped the newspaper. ‘And it says here that there’s a five per cent discount, which makes it £ 142.50, by my reckoning.’
    ‘That’s right,’ I said, impressed by the speed of hiscalculation and wishing that I could charge him twice the amount and give the girl the cupcake dress.
    ‘Keith. Please,’ she moaned. Her eyes were shining with tears.
    ‘C’mon, Kelly,’ he groaned. ‘Give me a break. That little black number’s just the ticket and I’ve got some top people coming so I don’t want you looking like bloody Tinker Bell do I?’ He glanced at his expensive-looking watch. ‘We’ve got to get back – I’ve got that conference call about the Kilburn site at two thirty, remember. Now – am I buying the black dress or not? Because if I’m not, then you won’t be coming to the Dorchester on Saturday, I can tell you.’
    She looked out of the window then nodded mutely.
    As I tore the receipt off the terminal the man held his hand out for the bag then slotted his card back in his wallet. ‘Thanks,’ he said briskly. Then, with the girl trailing disconsolately behind him, he left.
    As the door clicked shut the woman in the leopard-print dress caught my eye.
    ‘I wish she’d had the fairytale dress,’ she said. ‘With a “prince” like that, she needs it.’ Not sure that I should be seen to be knocking my customers, I smiled a rueful smile of agreement then put the green cupcake dress back on the wall. ‘She isn’t just his girlfriend – she works for him,’ the woman went on as she inspected a Thierry Mugler hot pink leather jacket from the mid eighties.
    I looked at her. ‘How do