A Vintage Christmas (8 page)

‘I really won’t go if it means missing seeing you and Soph off properly though,’ I look up and kiss him, trying to swallow back my sorrow. As our lips part I see his eyebrows pull together, there’s a flicker of something undistinguishable across his face and I feel sick. For the first time in ages, I can’t work out what he’s thinking, a thought which sends a cold wave of fear down my body. Is this what happens when a relationship is breaking down? You stop hearing and understanding each other? You stop knowing what the other is thinking? What they’re doing?

I bite my lip and grip his hand tightly. I feel terrible that I forgot he had so many foreign shoots coming up and that Sophie will be away. It’s going to feel so weird without them here. Lily’s right, I am letting work consume me. I vow to make it up to Sam and Sophie – just as soon as this launch is over.

‘I love you Sam,’ I say as I kiss him again. ‘I know things have to change – and I promise, they will.’

‘I hope so Evie,’ he’d replied.

It was a comment that didn’t fill me with the greatest of confidence. It’s also a comment I’ve dissected over and over in my mind ever since he left, analysing each word individually and putting it back together, until I get a frustrating final diagnosis of: Intention Unknown. That, coupled with his throwaway comment ‘It’s why I fell in love with you’ (past tense, not why I’m
in
love with you) has been enough to drive me mad.

Only David’s shoe collection has kept me on the straight and narrow while Sam’s been gone. But I’ve still had a few wobbles and come very close to sending various needy text messages of the ‘I love you, don’t leave me!’ variety. ‘I’m sorry for being a terrible girlfriend!’ You know the sort of thing. But everyone knows women should always refrain from texting their actual feelings in situations like this. Instead I’ve kept it light whilst torturing myself with thoughts of him, thinking about all the Brazilian beach babes he will have met and imagining him playing volleyball with Gisele look-a-likes.

Luckily, Sam is back tomorrow – albeit fleetingly – and today is the final time I see David before he brings the collection up to Hardy’s next month, ready for the big unveiling.

I press the buzzer and wait outside the door. Sunshine is flooding the shop-front which looks so much better now that the windows have been cleaned and the cobwebs and sand bags have gone.

David opens the door with a bright smile and waves me in. ‘Come in Evie! Maria’s is in the back. We’ve been working all night. And Mum and Dad have even come over to help!’ David says happily as he leads me through to the back room.

I walk in to find a hive of activity in the workroom. Music is playing on an old 1950s radio but it can barely be heard above the chatter and hammering.

‘Hullo Evie,’ I feel a tug at my trouser leg and look down and smile as Gabe Jr grins up at me. He’s the image of his father with a shock of dark hair and olive skin. I bend down and give him a hug but he just points at my shoes until I notice I’m standing on a bit of leather. I lift it up and he swipes if from underneath before putting it in an offcuts cubbyhole and then doing the same to Maria, who dutifully lifts both feet without pausing from her work. ‘He’s chief leather picker-upper today, aren’t you?’ Gabe Junior nods feverishly before dropping to his hands and knees to pick up more off cuts of leather. Maria laughs as he lifts up her feet one by one and calls over her shoulder. ‘He’s taking his role very seriously!’

‘It’s a real family affair here today,’ David says, nodding at his parents who are sat at the long trestle table and are hard at work.

‘Afternoon Mr and Mrs Angelo!’ I call out and Gabe Senior glances up and smiles at me, his Mediterranean blue eyes sparkling underneath a sweep of thick, dark (dyed) hair. ‘Evie. Nice to see you again!’ He gets up and opens his arms to embrace me as he always does. I laugh because he’s tiny, 5’4 at the most, so his arms end up practically around my waist. In true Italian tradition David’s father is a very warm, demonstrative man and both he and his wife, Giuliana, completely embraced me as one of their own.

‘Gee Gee!’ Mr Angelo turns and calls his wife. ‘Come and say hi to Evie!’ David’s mum, a lovely, sparkly 68 year old woman with long fair hair coiled into an intricate up do, turns and smiles at me. She has warm olive green eyes and a perfect rosebud mouth with a startlingly bright white set of teeth. ‘Have I ever told you why I call her Gee Gee?’ Gabe Senior asks, and I shake my head. He rubs his fingers and winks. ‘We’d be millionaires if it wasn’t for my Gee Gee’s gambling habit!’

Giuliana rolls her eyes underneath her trademark set of false eyelashes. ‘Do ignore him Evie, he’s a wonderful shoemaker but a terrible wind-up merchant!’ She stands up and walks over to me with arms outstretched, grasps my hands and squeezing them tightly before planting a kiss on both my cheeks. ‘I know I’ve said this many times before, but thank you Evie, for this opportunity. It means everything to this family.’ I nod, feeling choked by her gratitude.

‘So how’s everything going?’ I ask, glancing around the workshop and walking over to Maria. As I take a step closer and see how expertly her fingers are working, slowly, evenly and delicately on the embellishments.

‘This looks beautiful!’ I gasp.

‘No one can beat Maria’s eyes for attention to detail and exquisite stitching. Except, perhaps, me, Mum and Dad!’ David laughs.

In response Maria proudly holds up the beautiful pair of shoes she’s busily sewing appliqued sequinned flowers to.

I look down the centre of the room, and see half a dozen pairs of shoes in a rainbow of jewel tones.

I put my hand out tentatively to pick one of them up and hold it up to the light, turning it so I can see the delicate, sensual curve of the heel, the arch of the upper, the beautiful embellishments. All have the Angelo Shoes trademark label – the wings stitched into the inside of the shoes. But whilst all are stunningly beautiful, it is one pair that I’m particularly drawn to.

‘David, these are just! They’re... I mean, they’re beyond... I’m speechless!’ I say picking up and gazing at a pair of unfinished delicate, gold silk high-heeled sandals with burnished gold feathered angel wings spread across the toes. ‘These are just – perfection! An absolute trademark design. They couldn’t have been made by anyone but you! How many do you have left to make?’

‘That’s the last one.’ David says proudly. ‘It’s not finished yet though. But we’re making one of every size in each style – well, except the one you’re holding – so Hardy’s customers can try them on. It’s been tough but we’ve all been working day and night for months. And with the generous amount you’ve paid me it’s been worth it!’

‘Good,’ I laugh. ‘I have a feeling the orders are going to be rolling in for these once they go on display.’

‘Or even before,’ David says and then puts his hand over his mouth guiltily. Everyone looks at him. ‘Bugger, I wasn’t going to tell you, but I’ve already had a pre-order!’

‘Really?’ I frown. ‘That’s strange. But we haven’t even advertised your shoe collection yet! And, hang on,’ I say as something else David said rattles around in my brain. ‘Why aren’t you making more sizes of this one I’m holding? It’s a sure-fire classic!’

‘I wasn’t going to tell you this either, but someone very important has been in touch.’ I tilt my head and smile. I don’t want him to know just how concerned I am about all this information he “doesn’t want to tell me”. Rupert will kill me if I don’t keep control of this order. ‘They said they had it on good authority that I make the best shoes in the country, gave me some specific details of the very special person these shoes will be made for, and asked for a bespoke design exclusively for them. I didn’t think you’d mind...’

‘Oh, who is it for?’ I ask lightly.

David pulls an apologetic face. ‘I’m afraid I’ve been sworn to secrecy, Evie. If I told you, I’d have to kill you!’ And he runs his fingers across his neck, execution style.

‘A special person?’ I say, my heart pounding faster than usual as realisation dawns. ‘Oh David, you don’t mean? I mean, no, it’s impossible... isn’t it?’ My mind has flown to palaces and princesses, the Royal feathers. I look down at the feathery Angel wing shoes in my hand and I squeal with delight.

‘I know who it is!’

‘Glad to see you’re excited,’ David smiles.

‘Are you kidding? I’m ecstatic!’

Could Camilla have come across my newly discovered shoemaker on a weekend shopping trip from Highgrove? Or even – I almost can’t breathe enough to allow oxygen to my brain to think the name, let alone say
it
–
Kate?

‘They said they’d pop in when they’re back in the country. Apparently they travel a lot. And the shoes are going to be well photographed...’

I look at the pair in my hands and try not to squeal with delight. ‘They’re right there, David!’ I say trying to cover the fact that my mind is a-buzz.
We could call the shoe the ‘Princess Kate’!
I’m already imagining it at the centre of the display I’ve been working on. Right in the spotlight.

‘Can I just ask a favour Evie?’ David interrupts my wild imaginings with his words. ‘They’re not finished yet, but can you try them on?’ He glances down. ‘You’re a size 4 aren’t you?’ he grins.

‘How did-’ I say in astonishment, but he holds his hand up.

‘Do you really think after working in the shoe trade for fifty years that I’d need to ask your
shoe size
?’

I laughed. ‘Fair point!’

‘You’ll be doing me a massive favour. Maria here has got great big size 7 hooves, so she’s no good...’

‘It’s true!’ Maria calls.

‘And Mama doesn’t have the high instep of her youth. I want someone the same size to try it so I can get the line just so... ahhh yes. I see, mmhmm... yes yes...’

I wait with bated breath for him to finish his inspection. ‘Perfect!’ he says at last. ‘The recipient of these shoes is a very lucky lady.’

‘A VIP?’ I say and he looks at me as he winks and taps the side of his nose.

‘Definitely.’

I smile thinking of the wonderful balcony wedding kiss between Kate and William and imagining them coming to the store – maybe it would become Kate’s favoured department store; she’ll frequent it like Princess Diana used to go to Harvey Nichols...

‘So what about you?’ David asks, interrupting my daydream again.

‘Huh? What about me?’ I say slipping off the shoes and handing them back to him.

‘I know that you’re loved, but are you in love, too? The way you keep drifting off tells me you probably are... Sam, right? How are things with you two? Maria and I were hoping to see him soon.’

You’re not the only ones, I think sadly. I realise, here in the bosom of this lovely family, that I miss Sam even more. He should be here. He’d love Gabe and Gee Gee and he’d be brilliant with Gabe Jr. I miss him so much.

‘Oh you know David, we’re good. Busy, but good.’ I smile sadly and David glances at me with concern, but he is polite enough not to say anything. Not so his father!

‘Passing like feet on the pavement, are you?’ he calls out from across the room.

David rolls his eyes. ‘Sorry Evie, not only is he nosy, he changes every phrase to make it to do with shoes, you’ll get used to it!’ He turns around. ‘This is a private conversation Pops!’

Gabe Senior walks over to us quickly, wiping his hands and smiling at me. ‘Well someone’s got to give you some good advice. No matter how much you love your job – and believe me Evie dear, I love making shoes – nothing will keep you warm at night like the love of another.’ He glances over at Gee Gee who blows a kiss at him. ‘If you have it in your grasp, don’t ever let it go.’

I feel choked as I think back to Lily’s words of wisdom. ‘You know,’ I say thoughtfully, ‘someone else said that to me recently. A lady I admire a lot...’

Gabe nods sagely. ‘She sounds like a very wise woman. Listen to her.’

Chapter 7

Tuesday 10 December

14 shopping days till Christmas

‘You haven’t heard from him since he landed yesterday?’ Lily asks, as she waves at Felix who is halfway up Hardy’s tea shop’s Christmas tree, adding a few last vintage decorations. I shake my head disconsolately and my elbow wobbles the table precariously, causing the tea lights in the teacup centrepiece to flutter. Lily has once again done Hardy’s proud with her decorations. If the cosy, flickering candle light, the vintage teapots sprouting Christmas flowers and the cloved oranges – not to mention the scent of cinnamon, coffee, vanilla and chocolate, don’t draw the crowds here, nothing will.

Sam was indeed due back from Brazil yesterday, but he phoned me from the airport and said he had to dash off to Sophie’s nativity before flying out to another foreign shoot – his last before Christmas. He said he might be back at the weekend, but he wasn’t sure. ‘If I’m not,’ he’d said in a weird, strained voice, ‘good luck with the launch of
Angelo’s
. I’m sure it’ll be a big success, just like everything you do...’

I got the feeling he didn’t think there was much point sticking around. And he’s probably right. I’ve been so busy for the past few weeks I’ve haven’t been home before midnight, and then I’ve just been flopping into bed before dragging myself out again at 6am and setting off on my bike. First of all there were the window displays to design and then do: this year I’ve gone for a retelling of classic Grimm’s fairytales – lead by Angelo’s
Elves and the Shoemaker
window. We’ve also done
Hansel and Gretel
in another window with Jan making a beautiful life-size cutaway of a gingerbread house, filled with our best lines from the homes department, then
Rumplestiltskin
for haberdashery and
Cinderella
for men and womenswear. Then there have been all the preparations for Angelo’s launch, organising PR in the national magazines and newspapers, doing small exclusive launches with David to the editors. They all loved him. But even David has been hard to get hold of the last couple of days. He’s retreated to Tetbury and I’m worried he’s getting cold feet, too.