Miracle on Regent Street (56 page)

‘Sorry,’ I mumble, and pull away.

‘Don’t be,’ he says, kissing me on the forehead like a parent would their child. ‘Listen, are you free tonight?’ he asks, rubbing my arms to warm me up.
‘There’s one last makeover we need to do. Meet me at Hardy’s at nine. And dress in your best!’ He steps away from me and looks awkwardly over his shoulder. ‘I’ve
got to go, but I’ll see you later, yeah?’ And he walks away, pausing to wave and smile at me before disappearing over the top of the hill like he was never here at all.

T
he once-sleepy store looms proudly out of the darkness as I approach just before 9 p.m. I was worried about coming tonight but Delilah insisted I
go. I left her and Will working everything through with Mum, and Delilah said she owed me lots of nights out for all the help I’ve given her over the last two years. It doesn’t make me
feel any better for abandoning her for the past few weeks, but Delilah told me that she’s not my responsibility, and nor are her kids. She practically pushed me out of the door.

I stand for a moment and look at my charge, because that’s what Hardy’s has become to me. It seems to be standing taller somehow, like it has woken up from a deep sleep and is ready
to face the world. Long red curtains have been pulled across the store windows ready for the big reveal tomorrow. They make Hardy’s look like she is dressed up for a Christmas party in a
gorgeously glamorous old-fashioned gown. After seeing the final Christmas makeover this morning Rupert has even had the foresight himself to put some make-up on the old girl. When I left the store
earlier today Jan Baptysta and his laid-off cleaners were working flat out, painting the big window frames on the ground floor a modern Farrow and Ball green hue to enhance the old, traditional
sandstone brick above it. Rupert has even commissioned a new sign to be made by the oldest signmakers in London so that it reads ‘Hardy’s’ once again. Now the black iron letters
shine proudly against the pale green background and underneath, in smaller black letters, is painted the words Est. 1910. The sandstone bricks have been cleaned too, and as I gaze upon her now I
acknowledge that Hardy’s looks how I feel: fully made-up and ready for her big moment.

I smooth my hands over my dress, feeling inexplicably nervous. Sam said to dress up, but I’m not sure I should have chosen this, the 1950s sage-green chiffon dress from The Wardrobe. God,
how long ago it seems now since I tried it on in front of my sister. I can hardly believe I’m wearing it for real. I just hope I haven’t gone too far. I don’t know where to meet
Sam or what we’re doing, I just have to hope that he won’t think I look crazy. But I wanted to make the effort. I pat my chignon awkwardly and pull a few more tendrils of hair down
around my face to create a more relaxed look. Just as I’m beginning to wonder if Sam has forgotten all about me the staff entrance swings open and a grinning Felix, dressed in a full rig of
black tie and dinner jacket, grins and then bows at me before ushering me in.

‘Felix!’ I exclaim, pretending to be surprised but a bit disappointed that he’s here. Sam will have assumed that seeing all my friends will cheer me up, which ordinarily, it
would. But tonight? I can’t help but feel a little sad – and foolish. When I was getting ready, part of me hoped it would be just me and Sam. And not just because I’m not really
in the right state of mind for a big group get-together.

‘Evie, you look bleedin’ gorgeous!’ Felix says, before correcting himself.

‘Ah-hem,’ he clears his throat and stands to attention. ‘What I mean is, ma’am – your table awaits!’ He bows as I walk through the door. I have to cover my
mouth to stop myself from giggling. He looks so unlike Felix in this get-up. His stubble has been shaved, his messy hair slicked down with a side parting and his toned-down, tasteful attire is most
out of character. He winks at me before proffering his arm. ‘M’lady?’ he says with a small smile.

‘Why thank you, sir,’ I reply, curtsying and taking his arm.

We walk down the corridor past the staff board and I fleetingly glance at the passport picture of me that had my name, Eve Taylor, angrily scrawled in black ink over the top. I think back to
that day when I so wanted the staff at Hardy’s just to
see
me and wonder why I didn’t realize that so many already did; the ones who are most important to me, anyway. I squeeze
Felix’s arm and he grins at me, before tugging at his bow tie.

‘Bloody thing,’ he says, clearly forgetting his ‘posh’ voice. ‘Don’t know why I wear ’em. Maisie always said they made me look all trussed up like a
turkey.’

‘Here,’ I say, turning Felix round to face me and pulling at his tie to undo it so it hangs around his neck. I open his top button and then pull the tie so it lies evenly against his
white shirt. ‘That looks very suave; artfully dishevelled I think you’d call it,’ I say. ‘Much more you.’

Felix grins gratefully and we walk into the store. All the store’s main lights are off, and just the magical glow of the gigantic Christmas tree by the grand central staircase guides us
through the ground floor. We slowly descend the staircase. I can’t run my hand down the banister as I usually would because we twined them with holly and ivy during the makeover. At the
corner of each stair, different sized red church candles have been lit and they flicker warmly, helping to guide us down to the basement where yet more candles lead us to Lily’s tearoom.

‘What’s going on?’ I whisper to Felix as we walk slowly down our candlelit path. ‘Are we having a Christmas party?’

‘Kind of,’ he says, leading me into the doorway.

I gasp as I look around me. Lily’s tearoom has been transformed into an old-fashioned, festive dream. The little room is full of fragrant tealights flickering gaily in vintage tea cups
that have scented the air with pomegranate and spices. All the tables have been pushed into the corners of the room, apart from a single table for two, which has been placed in a hand-crafted and
painted sleigh in the centre of the room. A canopy of fairy lights is draped from the ceiling above so in the darkness of the room the table/ sleigh appears to be swooping through the stars in the
night sky. Against the back wall, half a dozen small fir trees have been placed and covered with white fake snow, giving a magical Narnia effect. I can only imagine that these are Jan’s
doing. The table inside the sleigh is covered in a dark red table cloth, with Lily’s mismatched vintage crockery in reds and greens set upon it. There is a centrepiece of candles on a vintage
cake stand with gold-leafed pears, cranberries and a scattering of holly and chestnuts around them. Rat Pack Christmas music is playing softly in the background.

Felix leads me over to the table that is laid for two and helps me to step inside the sleigh. I smile shyly and feel my heart soar as Sam stands up and bows at me before helping me off with my
jacket and gesturing for me to sit down. A big, soft cashmere rug has been placed on my seat and Felix drapes it gently over my knees to keep me warm. We discovered when we did the all-night
Christmas makeover, Hardy’s can get pretty chilly at night. Once I’m settled I glance up and look at Sam. He is wearing a dinner jacket and his hair is slicked back so he looks just
like a movie star from one of Lily’s photographs.

Felix pours from a bottle of champagne into two crystal glasses and then heads off to the counter, where Lily and Iris stand waving manically at him, dressed all in black, with white pinnies
on.

‘Hold your horses, Lil,’ I hear him say to her. ‘Starters can wait. Just give ’em a chance to have a chat first. Come on . . .’ And they all scuttle off, muttering
to each other.

I shake my head as I look around me and then back at a smiling, bashful Sam.

‘I can’t believe you’ve done all this!’ I say in awed delight. ‘It’s just beautiful.’

‘Well,’ he says, averting his eyes and playing with his cutlery, ‘I thought you needed cheering up and Hardy’s seemed the best place to do it. You’re not the only
one with a talent for makeovers, you know,’ he adds with a laugh.

‘So I can see!’ I smile and stare at him, rather than the room because I want to take in properly his handsome, groomed appearance. Gone is the dishevelled delivery boy, with his
ruffled face and puppy-fat cheeks and penchant for unironed clothes, and in his place is, well, a man. A cool, suave, proper grown-up-looking man with cheekbones illuminated by the shadow of
burnt-umber stubble and dark, slick hair. He looks gorgeous. I can’t work out if he’s always looked like this and I’ve just never looked at him properly or if he’s done
something drastically different. Whatever it is, I like it.

‘You look very handsome,’ I say shyly as Dean Martin croons softly in the background.

‘And you . . .’ he shakes his head as he gazes at me, ‘ . . . you look truly divine, Evie.’

I blush and look away.

‘Look—’ we say in unison.

‘You first,’ Sam begins.

‘No, you first, I insist.’

He clears his throat behind his fist and looks at me nervously. I clasp my hands together, which are sweating most unattractively under the table. He clears his throat again. ‘I just
wanted to say first of all that, well, actually I’ve wanted to do this . . . you know, go on a date, for a very, very long time. Since I met you, if I’m being totally honest. But it
never seemed . . . well, let’s just say there always seems to be others standing in our way.’ I look up at him and see the regret flicker over his face in the candlelight. Ella, I
think. ‘And then when Joel came along . . .’ he continues, ‘. . . well, I guess what I’m trying to say is that I know things are complicated right now and it’s still
not the right time. I just want you to know that I don’t expect anything from tonight, I just wanted to have a nice meal with my favourite girl and enjoy your company properly. As friends. So
let’s just be normal and chat like we always do – no weirdness, OK? And no expectations. Just being here with you is enough for me. He lifts his glass and smiles at me tenderly.
‘To what might have been.’

I nod, feeling choked at his speech, but I raise my glass, feeling more relaxed all of a sudden. I take a sip of champagne, which helps even more. ‘But you’d better give the memo to
them.’ I nod at Felix, Lily and Iris, who are all nudging each other and giggling like schoolchildren as they approach us carrying two plates between the three of them.

Sam laughs and shakes his head. ‘I knew they’d be trouble. They’ll be gone after the main courses. I’ve promised Lily a Martini on me if she helped out tonight. Not that
she can cook, mind. Felix and Iris have been in charge of that. But she helped me decorate this place.’

‘It looks incredible,’ I say. ‘It’s like Christmas has come early.’

‘Or, hopefully, just in time,’ Sam says, raising his glass again.

‘To Hardy’s,’ I say clinking my glass with his.

‘Let’s hope she gets her Christmas miracle,’ Sam adds as the Three Stooges deliver our starters.

‘Sir, modom,’ Felix says as he places our plates in front of us. ‘Your salmon and spinach roulade, lovingly prepared by me.’ He steps away and puts his hands behind his
back, rocking a little on his heels. ‘Maisie used to say it was my speciality,’ he adds proudly.

‘It looks wonderful, Felix,’ I say, glancing dubiously down at the pale pink, cream and green spinach and smoked salmon dish served on a bed of limp-looking greens, and feeling my
mouth twitch and my stomach lurch a little.

‘Go on then, taste it!’ Felix prompts eagerly, peering over us closely.

‘Oh, Felix, let them be,’ Lily chastises, pulling him back. ‘Here you go, darlings,’ she coos as she places a basket in the middle of the table and Iris pops down some
olives with a wink. ‘Here’s some pumpernickel bread. I didn’t bake it myself, obviously. It’s from Selfridges Food Hall. Now we’ll be off. Call us if you need
us!’ And Lily and Iris back off gracefully, each dragging a reluctant Felix by the arm as they retreat.

Sam and I look down at our starters, then back at each other and laugh.

‘It’s a retro roulade,’ I whisper.

‘I know,’ Sam hisses back. ‘I’m just worried he actually made it in the 1980s and just got it out of the freezer for tonight. You’re lucky, though, we nearly got
prawn cocktail until I asked for something more “modern”.’

‘Bless him,’ I say, wiping away a tear of laughter, ‘we shouldn’t judge until we taste it. It might be delicious.’

Sam looks at me and then his plate doubtfully.

‘OK, well, I’m going in,’ I say dramatically, lifting my knife and fork and taking a deep breath. ‘Are you with me, or not?’

‘Um . . . not?’ Sam says, making a face at his plate.

‘He’s still looking, you know,’ I say, waving my fork and smiling at Felix.

‘Oh God,’ Sam sighs. ‘I should’ve known this was a bad idea. I should’ve just ordered takeaway. After three, OK? One, two . . .’

‘Three!’ I swipe at the roulade with my knife, stab it with my fork, look at it for a moment, then pop it in my mouth. I look over but Sam is still staring at his.

‘Hey, cheat!’ I say with my mouth full of cream cheese, spinach and salmon. ‘You know,’ I say thoughtfully, ‘this is actually pretty nice.’ I adopt a
Masterchef
tone of voice. ‘Creamy, smooth cheese with the sharpness of lemon, then there’s the crunch of the leaves with the saltiness of the salmon. Oh and the festive, earthy
tang of nutmeg.’