A Vintage Christmas (7 page)

‘What problem is that, Evie?’

‘That there won’t be any.’

Rupert gapes at me and I look at him desperately. ‘Please, just hear me out. David is going to make ten or so designs in each shoe size; we’ll just stock the shoes for display and to try on. We’ll take orders and David will make the shoes bespoke for each customer – and we’ll obviously run a waiting list too, to manage the orders’

Rupert immediately shakes his head. ‘This is utterly out of the question, Evie, Hardy’s is not an exclusive shop!’

‘But Mr Angelo is so talented and unique and such a rare find, I honestly think we have to make an exception for him.’

Rupert’s ruddy pallor pales significantly. ‘So, how do we make money then Evie? Hardy’s isn’t a retirement home for benevolent stock, you know.’

‘I know,’ I say patiently. This is a line Rupert trots out regularly when I try to bring in vintage stock to display, not sell. ‘Instead, our customers will be able to order their own bespoke pair from the collection. David will make them exclusively for the customer, and to their specifications. Colour, detail, cut, will all be tapered to best enhance the customer’s experience. It’s department store couture!’

‘But that will take weeks! How can we sell this stuff in bulk and make a profit, without alienating our less wealthy customers?’ Rupert asks.

‘With an affordable factory-made diffusion line...’ I smile.

‘Oh yes?’ Rupert says, sitting back in his chair and finally looking relatively relaxed. ‘Tell me more Evie...’

Chapter 5

‘... And that’s when I knew he was going to say yes!’ I finish my story and smile gleefully at my friends as I take a celebratory bite of a delicate pastry and a sip of tea.

‘You said yes?!’ shouts Iris (she’s going a bit deaf). ‘Evie, that’s fabulous news!’ Felix nudges her and shakes his head.

‘Not me, Iris,’ I explain slowly. ‘David. The shoe guy? He said yes to letting me take the vintage shoe! And now Rupert has just said yes to us stocking a collection of his. Isn’t that fantastic news?’

I’m in Hardy’s quaint tearoom, with its deep burgundy walls that are covered in a cavalcade of signed black and whites of famous old movie stars who used to shop here, and dotted with pretty, vintage crystal wall lights. The floor is a chess board of original tiles, dark mahogany wood tables are scattered around the centre of the room as well as in the corners and beamed enclaves. Each one has a little table lamp that shines out a cheery welcome as soon as you walk in to the tea room. As does the vast array of pastries and cakes on the original 1930s counter – and of course, the smiles of Lily and Iris, the wonderful patrons of the tearoom. It has recently-and deservedly – been voted one of the best places for a traditional afternoon tea in London.

I’ve just told Lily, Felix and Iris about my thrilling weekend away and exciting find but I seem to be getting a rather low watt response. I take another bite of my pastry before realising that no one has spoken yet. I look at my friends and inwardly groan as I see inquisitive smiles are being directed from their faces to mine – and then towards my (bare) wedding ring finger and I realise what the problem is. Ever since Sam and I got together Lily, Felix and Iris have been trying on hats from the Accessories department. They keep presuming each weekend or date night will precipitate the ‘big moment’, that he will ask me ‘The Question’. Their expectation is exhausting. They say they’re just excited because it’s rare for them to have an event other than a funeral to look forward to.

‘Well, that’s jolly good darling,’ Lily says at last, patting her chignon and then clasping her hands and laying them on her lap. She looks sideways at Felix and frowns at him before smiling back at me – slightly manically.

I take a sip of tea. I thought they’d be more excited, especially Lily. She loves shoes. I lean down to my bag that’s sitting on the floor. I want to see if Sam has replied to the text I sent him earlier, telling him about my successful meeting. But the screen is blank. I sigh. I’m not going to see much of him this week because he’s shooting nights. I miss him already and am regretting how little time we actually spent together this weekend. Not that he minded, I know he was fine about it all. It’s just, well... I miss him. I slip my phone back into my bag. Around me I can sense much gesticulating of arms and mouthing of words, like a silent re-enactment of that old Typhoo advert – but with OAPs instead of apes.

I hear more whispering, which stops as soon as I look up.

‘I for one can’t wait to see the shoes!’ Lily says carefully. ‘But you haven’t told us darling – did you and dear Sam have a relaxing weekend as well? I mean–’ a quick glance at her two chums ‘–it sounds like you were working for most of it! Was there any chance for any, you know, private moments, chats, declarations, any, you know, questions?’ I raise my eyebrow at her and she looks at me angelically – pale blue eyes an ocean of calm and innocence.

‘Plenty,’ I smile brightly. Lily raises her pencilled eyebrows. I can never pull the wool over her eyes. ‘Well, a few. Ok, work did take over somewhat, but Sam was fine, he totally understood. We had a nice meal that night. We were both so tired we just ended up having room service... but that was kind of romantic anyway!’

I daren’t look at Lily. I haven’t convinced myself, let alone her. ‘Anyway, there’s plenty of time for all that. Sam and I have got forever to have romantic moments. But this find was a one-off. And I know you’re just going to love David Angelo.’

‘Not as much as we love Sam Arthur,’ Lily says. I narrow my eyes at her.

‘Lily Carmichael, you know I didn’t mean it like that,’ I say.

‘Just as long as Sam knows,’ she retorts in a light voice.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Male egos need constant stroking my dear. You must know that. Obviously your career is supremely important – and rightly so darling – you’re a 21st century woman – but don’t prioritise it all the time. Sam needs to feel he’s as important to you as your work. If not...’ she makes a sucking noise through her perfectly painted red lips.

‘What?’

‘Well, let’s just say work won’t keep you warm at night, darling.’

I roll my eyes and stand up. ‘Sam and I are fine, Lily,’ I say picking up my bag. ‘He understands how important my work is to me.’ She doesn’t answer. ‘I’d best be off. Busy day ahead,’ I say to the three of them. They all wave at me, poised to turn and chat as soon as I’m out of sight.

I love my friends, they’re wise, funny and eloquent. I usually listen to them, but this time, Lily is wrong. Sam is totally supportive of my work. He has no problem with it. Everything is fine.

I glance at my phone again. Still no text.

Chapter 6

Tuesday 19th November

35 shopping days until Christmas

The months pass quickly between my meeting with Rupert, the beginning of the new season and the launch of
Angelo’s
collection at Hardy’s. Four months isn’t long to design and make a whole collection, but I just know we can do it. David has been working tirelessly – as have I, travelling to and from Tetbury to look over his designs; to Italy with him to help choose materials, and then back to Tetbury, simply to watch him and Maria work.

It’s been fascinating watching the shoe-making process – the meticulousness of his concentration on the fit, length and shape, the beautiful stitch-work, not to mention how Maria compliments him by working to perfectly enhance his exquisite designs on the details – whether it’s lace appliques, crystals, or beadwork. They’re a great team. Something that can’t be said of Sam and me right now.

‘You off to
Angelo’s
again?’ he’d said, without looking at me as he got Sophie ready for school this morning.

‘Yep, just till tomorrow though. I’m going down to look at some specially sourced silks for David’s collection.’

‘Right... And you’re staying overnight?’ He’d looked at me meaningfully, but I’d missed whatever point he was trying to make. Was he jealous? Of David?
Surely
not!

‘Yes, Maria is cooking dinner – she wants to say thank you.’ I look at Sam who doesn’t look any happier – even at the mention of David’s wife. ‘They invited you too, remember? But we couldn’t get a babysitter...’

‘I don’t need a babysitter, Evie.’ Sophie had interjected proudly. ‘I’m, like, seven now, you know.’ She grins at me and I mouth, “I know, right?” as if I’m in on a secret and her dad isn’t. It’s a little game we play that has really helped bring us closer together.

Sam had folded his arms as he’d gazed at her. Not for the first time I’d noticed how much Sophie looks like her dad, with her barley blonde ringlets and wide, one penny piece eyes. She even has his dimples. ‘Oh you think you’re such a big girl huh?’ Sam had said swinging her into his arms with ease. ‘Too big to be carried like a baby?’ He’d flipped her on to her back and she’d squealed and flung her head back with delight, kicking her legs as Sam had cradled her whilst crooning a lullaby. I’d got in on the act by tickling her tummy and she’d giggled hysterically making Sam and I smile indulgently at each other before suddenly remembering we were in the middle of a barbed “discussion”. He’d hurriedly dropped a kiss on her forehead before lowering her back down on the floor.

‘Good news Sophster, as a special treat you can watch five minutes of TV before school... ok?’ Sophie had squealed and skipped off into the lounge. A minute later CBBC blared out of the room and we were alone to talk.

Except clearly Sam didn’t want to. He’d immediately turned and grabbed Sophie’s cardigan and bag from the coat pegs as I’d hovered by the front door, overnight case in hand. He made no effort to speak and was clearly annoyed. I genuinely didn’t know why we were arguing about this.

‘So anyway, I’ll be back after work tomorrow,’ I’d said conversationally, pulling on a dark green pea coat, tugging my ponytail out from the collar and pinning a beret to my head. ‘Although I’ll probably have to pull a late one, I’m over seeing Jan Baptysta as he’s working on the design for the Angelo Shoes display. It’s going to be the most spectacular one we’ve ever had. I want to make sure we get it completely right...’ I trailed off mid-sentence because Sam still hadn’t said a word or even turned around.

‘... Are you alright Sam?’

‘I’m fine, Evie,’ Sam had said, clearly not alright at all. ‘You’ve obviously forgotten I’m off on an editorial trip tomorrow.’ He’d paused and I’d racked my brains but couldn’t remember anything about it. ‘Brazil? For five days? And then back briefly before I’m going to Mexico...’ He’d shaken his head in dismay as I’d looked at him blankly. ‘I
told
you Evie, but you’re so consumed with all this shoemaker stuff that it’s like you don’t notice anything that goes on around here anymore! It’s been like this for months – ever since we went to Tetbury. I’ve been telling myself it’ll get better,
trying
to make an effort. I arrange nights out for us, and for Sophie – but even then you come as an afterthought. It’s like we’re way down on your priority list...’

‘No!’ I cry, and then instantly lower my voice. I don’t want Sophie to overhear our disagreement. ‘That’s not fair, Sam. Of course you’re not! I love you both... so much, you know that!’

Sam looks at me and I see a flash of remorse as he takes in the tears and my shame. He rubs his forehead. ‘I’m sorry Evie, I just miss you.’

I take a step closer and clutch his hand. ‘And I’m so sorry if I’ve neglected you both. But Sam, it’s been a really stressful time at work—’

‘I know,’ Sam says, dropping my hand. ‘Look, I’m sorry ok? Go and spend the day with your latest protégé, by all means. We’ll sort it all out when I get back from my trips. By then you’ll have done the Christmas store makeover and perhaps you’ll have some time for us...’

I don’t know what possesses me, maybe it’s the condescending tone I think he uses, maybe it’s disappointment that Sam isn’t the perfect, patient boyfriend I thought he was. Maybe because, in the three years since I was last in a relationship, I decided that I’d never put my work, or myself to one side for a man again.

‘Oh yes, because you never do night shoots when I finish early from Hardy’s, you’re always here on Saturdays instead of doing street style shoots while Sophie and I are hanging out. I understand completely why you think
I’ve
neglected
you.’
He looks remorseful and I pause and look at him staunchly. ‘You know my work and I aren’t mutually exclusive, this isn’t just a job to me Sam, it’s my
life
. I thought you knew that.’

There is a long silence as Sam contemplates what I’ve just said. I decide it’s now or never to say how I really feel.

‘You’ve always told me that the baby years are hard, well Sam, I know that, because my
career
is still a baby! You know how miserable I was stuck in the stockroom! I love you and Sophie and you’re more important to me than anything, but I need you to know that I’m not going to change.’

‘I understand,’ Sam says and for a moment I think I’ve made him see my point of view. ‘Are you still going to Tetbury?’ he asks quietly.

I nod, without looking at him.

‘Fine,’ he says evenly. ‘I’ll be back in a few days but only briefly. Sophie’s going to be staying with Ella for the next few weeks leading up to Christmas as I have so many shoots coming up.’

I try to think quickly, panicking that we won’t have any quality time together for so long. ‘Ok, well maybe I can call Maria and see if we can postpone the dinner?’ I offer. ‘I’m sure she won’t mind. Although,’ I add, rubbing my forehead, ‘I’ve just remembered that I offered to pick up Gabe Junior from school for them so they could carry on working through the afternoon...’

Sam smiles wryly. ‘Adopted babysitter too, are we?’

‘You know I love kids. And I like to help people as much as I can,’ I reply defensively.

‘It was a joke, Evie.’ He drops a kiss on my forehead, similar to the one he gave Soph. If it’s meant to make me feel better, it doesn’t. I don’t even know when he’s serious any more. ‘I know you like helping. It’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you.’