by Lucy Diamond
Gemma looked blank. ‘Um . . . ’
‘Imagine this really was a shop. What would go up above the door? We need a good strong name. Something punchy or witty – something that completely nails what you’re all about.’
‘Er . . . ’ Gemma glanced down at what she was wearing that day: a simple black dress with clever tailoring that flattered her generous hips. She’d teamed it with a sparkly black bolero cardigan and had knotted a red silk scarf around her neck. ‘I can’t think of anything punchy or witty,’ she said doubtfully. ‘Er . . . Fuller Figure Fashion?’
Caitlin pulled a face. ‘That is awful, Gem. I’m not putting that anywhere near a website with your name on. You might as well call it Fashion For Fat Birds.’
‘My mind’s gone blank! Um . . . Voluptuous. No, that’s too much. Silhouette? Pear-shaped? God, no.’
‘Cleavage and Hips?’ Caitlin suggested, then shook her head in the next second. ‘No, we’ll attract the flasher-mac brigade.’
‘Hourglass?’ said Gemma. ‘Er . . . ’
‘I like Hourglass,’ Caitlin said. ‘Hourglass Designs. How about that?’
They looked at each other, both testing the name in their heads. ‘I like it, too,’ Gemma pronounced and smiled. ‘Hourglass Designs. Yes!’
Caitlin began typing and Gemma had just turned to go and make the coffee when her phone rang.
‘Gemma speaking,’ she said politely. ‘Oh, hello again, Bunty.’ She looked excited and terrified at the same time as she spun round to make the thumbs-up sign at Caitlin, eyes wide. ‘Today? Let me just check with my assistant.’ Lips trembling as if she were dying to burst out laughing, she called to Caitlin, ‘Do we have space for a fitting this afternoon?’
‘Let me see . . . ’ Caitlin paused as if consulting a real appointments book, then winked. ‘You’re free at one-thirty for an hour or so.’
‘Lovely, thank you,’ Gemma said, then returned to Bunty. ‘How does one-thirty sound? I can take your measurements and we can discuss designs . . . Excellent. I’m at the studio, so do come straight here. It’s White Gables Cottage on River Street. Look forward to seeing you then.’
She ended the call, put her hands up to her face and screamed with excitement. ‘Oh my God!’ she cried. ‘I can’t believe this is happening. I just can’t believe it!’ She paused then, and an anxious look crossed her face. ‘This is all right, isn’t it, me inviting her over here? I’m not keeping you from doing anything urgent, am I?’
‘Me, no,’ Caitlin said, brushing off the question. ‘I didn’t have anything on today anyway.’ Apart from investigating skeletons in the closet, a small voice piped up in her head, but she quickly pushed that thought aside. ‘So,’ she said. ‘What’s the plan?’
Chapter Twenty-Two
When the doorbell rang at precisely one twenty-nine Gemma thought she might very well faint with nerves.
‘Here we go,’ Caitlin said. ‘No, let me answer it. I’m the lackey, remember; you’re the glamorous designer. Deep breaths!’
Ever since the night before, when the astonishing conversation with Bunty took place in The Partridge, Gemma had felt as if she was living in a strange and rather thrilling dream. The sort of wonderful dream that usually only ever happened to other people. A famous person wanted to commission her to create a gorgeous new dress for a large sum of money. Opportunities like that didn’t come knocking every day, especially on Gemma’s front door.
Of course Spencer had scoffed when she’d arrived home from the pub that night, breathless with this news. ‘Three hundred and fifty quid, my arse,’ he said disbelievingly over the sound of the television. ‘She was pissed, I bet. Off her nut on coke. That’s what all those telly people are like – full of shit.’
It was like taking a bright, fizzing sparkler into a cold shower. All Gemma’s confidence was snuffed out in an instant. ‘Well . . . I don’t think she was pissed,’ she said after a moment. ‘Spence, I think it could really happen. She seemed genuinely keen.’
He snorted, not even looking at her. ‘Course she was.’
Lying in bed that night, his words kept coming back to her, until she convinced herself that he would be proved right. Things like this didn’t happen to her, did they? Surely it was too good to be true. But the next morning Caitlin showed that she believed in Gemma sufficiently to help create this whole studio facade; Bernie had shown faith in allowing her to swap her shifts so that she could be here; and her friend Eliza just squealed with sheer excitement when Gemma phoned, and said that of course she’d pick up Darcey from school – no problem, just as long as Gemma told her all the details later.
So you were wrong, Spencer Bailey, she thought now, with a quiet, nervous triumph as Caitlin vanished into the hall. Not everyone off the telly is full of shit, thank you very much. And now this telly person has just rung Caitlin’s doorbell because she’s here to see me. Got that?
Gemma took a last glance around. Everything was in order. There were pastries in the kitchen that she’d picked up from the bakery, tinkling piano music playing from Caitlin’s retro DAB radio, and even the sun was obliging her by sending long rays of honeyed light onto the polished floorboards. The room looked so pretty and colourful with all her equipment and fabrics, she could almost believe this was her actual studio. How Grandma Pepper would have loved to see it!
‘Hello, come in,’ she heard Caitlin say from the hall, and a flurry of butterflies swirled up inside Gemma’s tummy. Oh my goodness. Now it was showtime. Could she really pull this off?
More voices, and then Caitlin was asking if she could take their coats, in a polite, subservient tone that made Gemma want to splutter with laughter. ‘Thank you. Would you like to follow me? Gemma’s in the studio.’
Heart thumping, Gemma went over to the rail of clothes and pretended to be hanging up a silk dress. Her fingers trembled on the material and she tried to breathe deeply. Do not blow this, she ordered herself with sudden fierceness. Three hundred and fifty pounds would be extremely welcome in the bank right now. She could not afford to muck this up.
The footsteps and voices drew nearer and she turned as Caitlin showed Bunty and Saffron into the room. Saffron was wearing a long grey cardigan and dark trousers, with just a hint of a bump showing under her pale-grey T-shirt, whereas Bunty was dressed in the same tight pink suit she’d had on the day before, now somewhat more creased.
‘Hello again,’ Gemma said, trying to channel the image of a confident, self-assured fashion designer, well accustomed to celebrities popping round for a fitting. ‘Thanks for coming today.’
There was nowhere for them to sit, she realized in a panic the next moment. How could they have forgotten something so basic? If only she could magic up a purple velvet chaise longue, or some other lovely seat to offer them. As it was, she’d have Bunty Halsom standing up with her coffee and croissant, which would not be relaxing for anyone. ‘Um . . . ’ she faltered, her mind going blank. Shit – now they were all looking expectantly at her, and she’d completely forgotten what she’d planned to say.
Saffron rescued her. ‘What a fantastic space,’ she said, gazing around. ‘It’s so light and airy in here.’
‘It’s divine,’ Bunty agreed. ‘Such simplicity – perfect for creativity, I always think. I can’t bear these places where there’s too much going on. Enough to give you a headache.’
‘Absolutely,’ Gemma said, recovering herself. ‘I find it best to work without too many distractions.’ Inspiration struck her. ‘In fact, I deliberately don’t have any creature comforts in here, otherwise I might be tempted to curl up in the nearest armchair and take an afternoon snooze.’ Phew, they were smiling. ‘Now then, before we start talking about designs and fabrics, would either of you like a coffee or tea?’
‘We have tea, coffee, sparkling water, orange juice . . . and I believe there are some pastries, too,’ Caitlin said politely. You had to hand it to her, Gemma thought, hiding a grin. She was playing the part of dutiful assistant brilliantly.
‘Jolly good,’ Bunty said. ‘A coffee would hit the spot. I think I had one too many in the pub last night.’ Her eyes were rather bloodshot and baggy-looking, Gemma noticed. ‘That Bernie’s a card, isn’t he? Kept plying me with alcohol, glass after glass. What’s a girl to do, though, eh?’
Saffron pulled a funny face, unseen by Bunty, and Gemma had to force herself not to giggle. Bernie was a terrible flirt, it was true, but from where she’d been standing last night, the flirting had definitely not been a one-way street. ‘He’s a devil,’ she agreed, trying to keep a straight face. ‘But lovely, too. Single these days as well, I should mention . . . ’ She winked. ‘And, on that bombshell, let’s make you a coffee and get started.’
Once she had recovered from her initial rush of nerves, Gemma soon began to relax and enjoy herself. Bunty was much more charming than she’d anticipated – naturally warm and chatty, and not at all up-herself. She also had an excellent stock of gossipy showbiz stories that always began ‘Between you and me . . . ’ and ended with them all shrieking with laughter.
Over mugs of milky coffee and the pastries, they discussed what Bunty was looking for in her dress: namely something gorgeous and jaw-dropping that she could wear to the upcoming TV awards ceremony, and that would, with a bit of luck, make Troy – her horrible ex – drop dead with regret for his vileness, right there and then on the red carpet. ‘Actually, no, on second thoughts, not there on the red carpet,’ Bunty amended hastily. ‘He can jolly well stay out of my limelight and drop dead alone in the gents’ toilets instead. Face-first into the urinal preferably. Ha!’
Beneath all the bluster, Gemma realized there was something rather vulnerable about Bunty. ‘Then I shall make you the most splendidly I-Am-Fabulous frock you’ve ever worn,’ she promised. ‘That’s what brings me satisfaction, at the end of the day – creating outfits in which women feel invincible. Everyone needs a dress that makes them feel beautiful.’
‘Hear, hear,’ Saffron said, breaking a corner off her second almond croissant and chewing it. She looked much more chipper than she had done the day before, Gemma thought to herself, and seemed to be getting on quite well with her client, which was a relief.
Caitlin was playing a blinder. She must have been sneakily calling the landline number from her mobile, because it kept ringing every ten minutes or so, and she’d hop up from the table, excusing herself. ‘Hourglass Designs?’ she’d say, her voice carrying as she walked through to the living room-cum-studio. ‘Oh, hi, Olivia. How are you? Congratulations on the BAFTA nomination!’ ‘Jennifer, hello – great to hear from you again! Gemma’s with a client right now, but I can . . . Oh, okay, when does your plane land? We could see you on Friday, I should think, let me see . . . four o’clock in the afternoon?’
Each time you could see Bunty eavesdropping, obviously tremendously impressed by how in demand Gemma must be, and trying to work out who the callers were.
‘So all we need to do now is decide on fabric and colour, and I’ll take some measurements,’ Gemma said, once she’d sketched out a design to Bunty’s satisfaction. ‘Let’s go back into the studio and you can have a browse.’
Just as Bunty was deliberating between dark-purple satin and emerald-green crêpe de Chine, her phone rang and she glanced at the screen. ‘Ah. It’s Callum,’ she said to Saffron, rather grim-faced. ‘My lawyer,’ she added for the benefit of the other two. ‘I’d better take this call. Excuse me a moment.’
‘We’ll give you some privacy,’ Gemma said, sensing it was important. Besides, she was dying to chat to Saffron and Caitlin alone. ‘Take your time.’
In the safety of the kitchen she did a silent scream of excitement, hands clapped on either side of her face. ‘This is amazing,’ she hissed to Saffron. ‘I can’t believe it’s happening.’
‘Why shouldn’t it? You obviously know your stuff. And when “Olivia” and “Jennifer” are calling round the clock, wanting new outfits, well . . . ’
They all giggled like naughty schoolgirls. ‘I couldn’t resist,’ said Caitlin.
‘You’re a bloody genius,’ Gemma told her.
Saffron gave Caitlin a hug. ‘Lovely to see you again,’ she said. ‘And sorry for being so formal at the door. I thought it would confuse things if I introduced you as my hot new website designer – I didn’t want to arouse any suspicion.’
‘No worries,’ Caitlin said. ‘I emailed you last night by the way, I don’t know if you’ve seen it yet?’
‘I did. Sorry to hear about the handsome-stranger situation.’
Gemma felt confused, not following the conversation. Emails? Handsome stranger?
‘Caitlin’s been doing some work for me,’ Saffron explained, and grinned. ‘Don’t you just love that we all met completely randomly on New Year’s Eve, and now we’re all working together? How cool is that?’
‘It is awesome,’ said Gemma. ‘A million, gazillion times better than my doomed cocktail-mixing career, or whatever I was on about at the time.’ Then she addressed Saffron, lowering her voice. ‘So it’s going all right, with you and Bunty, is it? She’s not driving you completely potty?’
‘Surprisingly, no,’ Saffron said. ‘She’s actually been really sweet and phoned Charlotte – my boss – saying she’s had to commandeer me for the next week or so, to help manage her press, after Troy the wanker did the dirty on her. I don’t think Charlotte was very impressed, as I’ve got other clients who need me, but Bunty offered to pay double apparently, which swung the balance, and she’s putting the cottage rental on her expenses. Oh yes, and she was straight back down to The Partridge the minute it opened this morning to see Bernie – any excuse, if you ask me – and proceeded to flirt outrageously in order to get some discount on an extra week here.’
‘Cool,’ Caitlin said. ‘I rather like her, you know. She’s a smart lady. Smarter than she seems on telly, if that isn’t too rude.’
‘She’s very smart. Went to Cambridge, and is incredibly well read and opinionated.’ Saffron lowered her voice discreetly. ‘Bloody annoying half the time, yes, but she’s not a dumb bimbo, despite how the press try to paint her. I just wish she wouldn’t keep going for these awful men who screw her over for a handful of cash. She makes it too easy for them.’
They fell silent for a moment, as Bunty’s voice rose from the other room. ‘Well, pull as many strings as you can; make a few threats, take out an injunction if you have to, but I’m not being held to ransom by that little cockhead and his hamster-penis. That’s all there is to it, Callum.’
They smothered their giggles at this. ‘What’s really good,’ Saffron went on quietly, ‘is that she’s actually dealing with the situation herself for a change. In the past she’s been like a kid – always turned to her manager, or agent, or me, or any other sucker, and got them to sort out her problems. But yesterday . . . ’ Her mouth twisted. ‘Well, basically, I had a go at her and told her to get a grip, and that I quit. Spoke a few home truths that I probably shouldn’t have, to be honest.’
‘Yikes,’ said Caitlin.
‘Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. Goodbye, job; hello, unemployment. But it must actually have struck a chord with her, because for the first time ever she’s taken a bit of control over her own life. She’s instructed her legal team to handle cockhead-Troy, rather than have someone else organize that for her, and now she’s calling all the shots. I’m glad for her.’ She grinned. ‘And I’m glad for you, too, Gemma, because what you said to her – about creating dresses to make women feel beautiful – that’s exactly what Bunty needs right now. Play your cards right, and you might just have a customer for life.’
Gemma felt herself turning red. ‘Oh! Well, great,’ she said. ‘I meant it, though, it wasn’t just flannel.’
‘I know, you were totally sincere. But nobody else in her world is, you see. She’s usually surrounded by flatterers and bullshitters. You wait, you’ll be in her little black book faster than you can say “hamster-penis”.’
‘I
hadn’t even thought about future dresses,’ Gemma said dazedly.
‘Well, you should,’ Caitlin said. ‘Twenty or so women like Bunty, each buying a few new dresses every year . . . You’ll be laughing all the way to your new Swiss bank account, dude.’
‘Definitely,’ Saffron agreed. ‘And make sure you give me a few business cards to pass around my other clients. I’ll even write you a press release!’
‘We can get your website up and running in no time,’ Caitlin said. ‘Design a logo for the brand . . . ’
Gemma held up her hands, feeling shell-shocked. ‘Whoa, whoa,’ she said. ‘Hang on. I don’t really think . . . I mean . . . I’m not a brand! This is just one dress for one lady, remember. The sort of lucky strike that only happens once in a blue moon. I’m not sure I need press releases and websites and business cards, when it’s just little me sewing a dress for another person. Do I?’
‘Remember the fortune-cookies,’ Saffron said. ‘What was it again? Something about following your bliss, and doors opening . . . ’
‘Purses opening, too,’ Caitlin said, elbowing her. ‘Go for it, Gem. This is your chance. It could change everything.’
Bunty clip-clopped back into the kitchen just then and they fell silent. ‘Sorry about that, girls,’ she said. ‘All sorted, Callum’s on the case. Troy Blake will be grovelling at my feet by the end of the week, you wait.’ Then she held up the purple and green swatches of fabric. ‘Do you know what, I simply can’t decide which colour I love the most,’ she said, beaming. ‘So I’ll take one of each. Will that be all right?’
Caitlin kicked her under the table and Gemma had to swallow hard to stop herself from letting out a very unprofessional screech of excitement. ‘Of . . . of course it will,’ she managed to stammer. ‘No problem at all.’
‘Good news!’ Gemma exclaimed later that afternoon, as she burst into the house with Darcey in tow. ‘Spencer, where are you? I have great news!’
