Girl in a Vintage Dress

by Nicola Marsh

  She glanced down at her skirt, at the hint of tulle petticoat peeping out from beneath, loving the fullness it created, the fun flare, the white polka dots stark against an ebony background.

  Dresses like this spoke to her. They whispered stories of the beautiful women who’d worn them many decades earlier, of a time when women’s curves were embraced, not ridiculed. Such a special era…and so far removed from the present to be laughable.

  Looking around at the stylish women in the crowd, swathed in head to toe clingy black, she doubted they’d ever had to battle bullies at school who’d tormented them over their lunch boxes, count calories under a beauty queen mother’s watchful eye or hide backstage and pretend to be another lackey at a supermodel sister’s catwalk show.

  Not that she was jealous exactly but she envied them their carefree ‘togetherness’, as if they knew their place in the world, taking for granted their easy self-assurance.

  She’d worked hard for her confidence, worked at it on a daily basis; with every wave of the mascara wand over her naturally pale lashes, with every tuck of her curls, with every slash of her signature Crash Crimson lipstick, she put together an image to the world. An image that showed a confident businesswoman who loved anything vintage, who enhanced her assets and made the most of the curves she’d once hidden.

  But sitting here in this trendy loft, surrounded by Melbourne’s A-list, she recognised her confidence was as brittle as her bank balance.

  And it was all because of the man striding through the crowd towards her, that roguish smile directed solely at her, unsettling her far more than the hip crowd.

  ‘Here you go.’

  Chase appeared from the left and handed her a drink. ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

  He studied her face and she quickly schooled it into the bright, bubbly mask she used to greet customers.

  ‘You were looking mighty pensive when I was grabbing these.’

  He’d been watching her? She tried to hide her surprise. In a room of wall to wall revealing outfits and glamorous women he’d been eyeing her?

  ‘Guess I’ve just revealed my hand,’ he said, his smile rueful as indecision flashed across his face for a second then cleared.

  Before she knew what was happening, he’d taken hold of her hand in a firm, warm grip that sent excitement ricocheting through her.

  ‘I have to tell you, Lola, you fascinate me.’

  If she’d been any other girl, a whole host of witty replies would’ve tripped from her lips, making him laugh and easing the awkwardness of the moment.

  As it was, she sat there, stunned, hoping her jaw hadn’t dropped as she frantically searched for a suitable response other than, Say it again.

  She hated feeling this uncertain, this panicky. It reminded her of being put on the spot countless times in her past when she never had the right reply or frustratingly thought up something witty to say hours later.

  Chase made her nervous and she’d spent an eternity battling her anxiety in social situations, honing her confident mask to project an assured image to the world and enhance her business. Sadly, the more attention Chase paid her, the more cracks appeared in that carefully constructed mask.

  To her relief, he smoothed over her gaucheness with a slow, sexy smile that tied her tongue into a thousand more knots.

  ‘I know you think I’m crazy for saying that after only meeting you earlier today but I’m blunt in business and it tends to spill over into other areas of my life.’

  He paused, squeezed her hand gently before lifting it to his lips and brushing a soft kiss across the back of it. ‘You’ll get to know that about me.’

  She would?

  As her hand tingled with the delicious touch of his lips, she reacted how she always did in a situation like this.

  Floundering way out of her depth, she grabbed her handbag, mumbled an, ‘I’ll be right back,’ and made a mercy dash to the loo.

  Only to be waylaid a moment later by some grey-haired guy in a maroon suit with a thin leather tie that came from the same era as some of her merchandise.

  She’d planned on giving him the brush-off, needing time to reassemble her wits after Chase’s declaration, the frightening, exhilarating ‘you fascinate me’ still ringing in her ears, until he introduced himself and she recognised Arledge Hahndorf as being a major player in Melbourne’s money world.

  In that moment, with the top actuary shaking her hand, she took a steadying breath, ignored the internal mess of quivering nerves thanks to Chase’s serious flirtation, and gave the guy her most dazzling smile.

  How many times had she charmed clients and wooed business with her practised poise? Too many to count and meeting Arledge Hahndorf was just like that—a business opportunity too good to pass up.

  She chatted and smiled and nodded as the actuary expounded his theories on Melbourne’s money market, determinedly avoiding glancing at the sofa in the far corner of the loft.

  She could handle the top money movers in the room, but handling Chase Etheridge at his devastating best was another matter entirely.

  Chase loved these shindigs. Loved the buzz in a room full of movers and shakers, loved the deals clinched over Cosmopolitans and whisky sours, loved the aura of success that hung over the crowd like a rainbow of riches.

  Yet there was something off-kilter about tonight and as Lola charmed Melbourne’s top actuary he knew what it was.

  In less than twenty-four hours this woman had made him feel something he hadn’t felt in a long time: uncertainty.

  There was something so wholesomely appealing about her, something so refreshing in her honest answers, her uncontrived responses to him, that he found himself drawn to her in a way that intrigued as well as terrified.

  He loved women: loved dating them, entertaining them, spoiling them, but that was where it ended.

  He didn’t like them getting too close; close enough to make him feel anything other than admiration and lust. Yet in the space of a day Lola Lombard had inspired a hell of a lot more than that.

  He’d never met anyone like her.

  A woman of contrasts, she could swan through a room like this with her head held high, seemingly oblivious to the stares.

  Yet when he’d complimented her, held her hand and kissed it, she’d bolted faster than his prized racehorse.

  Taking a slug of his boutique beer, he watched her laugh at something the actuary said, a genuine laugh with cute crinkles at the corners of her eyes and a wide smile from those incredibly red, incredibly sensual lips and he wasn’t sure whether the flip in his gut was from the beer or the power this woman could wield with a bat of her long lashes.

  She chose that moment to dart a nervous glance his way and his gut tightened again. No doubt about it, he’d better tread carefully with this one.

  He’d hired her for a week to make his sister happy. Maybe they could have a harmless flirtation, a fun interlude, too?

  As he raised his beer glass in her direction in a silent toast, and the faintest blush stained her cheeks as she returned her attention to the actuary, that flicker of uncertainty gripped him harder.

  Yeah, he needed to watch his step with Lola. No use letting a simple attraction affect his foolproof judgement. He’d once harboured foolish hopes, expecting more from people than they were ready to give.

  Never again.

  When she’d been younger Lola had often got swept along in other’s plans.

  Playing wardrobe co-ordinator to Shareen’s many fashion shows? Yep.

  Lugging make-up cases along with suitcases of shoes? Done that too.

  Stuck at some phoney after-party pretending to pick at sushi when she was starving for a burger and shake? Too many times to count.

  At the time it’d been easier to go with the flow than argue with her mum and by the time she’d grown a backbone it had been too late. Her bitterness at being the second string daughter had become ingrained.

  She’d worked hard at bu
ilding an inner confidence that no one could shake, had honed her smiles along with her wardrobe over the years, taking pride in how far she’d come from the subservient fat kid who would’ve done anything for praise.

  So what was her excuse for letting Chase railroad her into this?

  It had been tough enough accompanying him to that party, though she’d justified it as business. While she’d inwardly seethed with nerves courtesy of his twenty-four-seven charm, she’d met some useful people with potential contacts so it hadn’t been all bad.

  But this?

  ‘Come in, make yourself at home.’

  Easy for him to say as she hovered on the edge of his step-down lounge trying not to gawk at his penthouse.

  She felt like Alice in Wonderland falling down the rabbit hole: floundering, astonished, way out of her depth.

  ‘I’ll make another call to Cari, see how long she’ll be.’

  She managed a mute nod, wondering how he could be so oblivious to all this gob-smacking luxury. Then again, he lived here, was used to it and probably took it for granted, while for her, seeing the sheer obscenity of the palace he lived in merely served to reinforce the yawning gap between them.

  ‘Can I get you anything? Coffee? Drink?’

  She shook her head, wishing he’d go make that call already for the faster his sister arrived and they did the whole introduction thing the faster she could escape.

  ‘No, thanks, I’m fine.’

  ‘If you change your mind, the kitchen’s through there.’

  He pointed over her right shoulder. ‘I meant it when I said make yourself at home.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Her smile felt as brittle as her grip on reality as he punched numbers into his phone and headed down a long hallway.

  When he vanished into a room, she exhaled, slumping against the nearest wall and squeezing her eyes shut.

  This had to be a dream, one of those weird alternate realities where everything was too perfect and when she woke up she’d be back to her ordinary life.

  Not that there was anything wrong with her life, per se. In fact, she was pretty darn happy with all she’d achieved: leaving Brisbane behind to start a new life in Melbourne, striking out on her own, reinventing herself, making Go Retro a reality.

  Yeah, her life was pretty darn fantastic but she’d be lying if she didn’t admit to wishing for a special someone to share it with.

  She had a fair idea of her dream guy too: creative, laid-back, artistic. The opposite of Bodey.

  And the complete antithesis of Chase Etheridge.

  Yet here she was, in his penthouse, seriously swooning over more than his antique armoire which looked strangely out of place amongst all the clean, modern white furniture.

  Stepping down into the lounge she headed for the armoire, ran a hand over the exquisite polished wood. Her fingertips grazed several chips but rather than detract they added character to the piece.

  She’d love something like this in her place, with its polished restored floorboards, alabaster walls she’d painted herself and retro furniture she’d scoured from markets across Melbourne. A place so far removed from Chase’s slick penthouse they may as well be on different planets.

  If the man himself was her polar opposite, their respective abodes reinforced it.

  Her North Melbourne Californian bungalow channelled a bygone era, filled with vintage appliances interspersed with antiques. Her collections overflowed into every room—hairpins, hat boxes, compacts, shoe clips—she loved the artfully decorated clutter, the warmth, the cosiness.

  While this place… Glancing around, she suppressed a shiver, for this pristine penthouse with its clinical white sofas and glass coffee tables and strategically hidden plasmas didn’t give a hint of warmth.

  Except the armoire…

  It snagged her attention again as she wondered what a guy like Chase would be doing with an old piece like this.

  ‘Cari’s on her way.’

  She jumped and tried to hide the fact he’d startled her by leaning against the armoire, belatedly realising she must look like some advertisement torn from the pages of a decades old newspaper.

  Hating how uncertain she felt around him, she straightened and tapped the armoire.

  ‘This is gorgeous.’

  To her surprise his expression closed off. ‘If you like that sort of thing.’

  ‘You must if it’s sitting in your lounge.’

  For the first time all evening he stared at her with anything but warmth.

  ‘A sentimental mistake.’

  He stepped into the lounge and headed for the floor to ceiling glass windows overlooking a glittering Melbourne many storeys below.

  ‘How much do we tell Cari? Do you want to run through the itinerary or keep it as a surprise?’

  His abrupt change of subject was almost as surprising as the sudden remoteness that radiated off him like a protective force field.

  He didn’t want to talk about the armoire and in asking about it she’d inadvertently stepped into an emotional minefield.

  Maybe she’d been wrong about him. Maybe there was a heart behind that cool, uber professional exterior.

  Shoving her curiosity aside, she joined him at the windows.

  ‘More fun for Cari if it’s a surprise, I think.’

  He nodded, his expression pensive as he turned towards her.

  ‘Good idea. She always loved surprises as a kid.’

  Buoyed by his thawing, she said, ‘You two were close?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  She heard warmth in that one word, warmth and closeness and love. The way she saw it, not many brothers would take time out from their busy schedules to organise a surprise like this for their sisters.

  The fact he’d noted what Cari liked, storing her love of vintage in his memory banks from a chance comment from a magazine, said a lot. And the fact he’d taken the time to find her shop, follow up and organise a week long hen’s party really put him right up there with best brother status.

  What would it be like to be close to a sibling? To share a real bond, a love that went beyond blood ties.

  She wouldn’t know. Her relationship with Shareen revolved around strained silences at the dinner table on the rare occasions the Lombards got together.

  The moment she’d stopped being Shareen’s whipping girl, PA and dresser was the moment Shareen had turned her back on her once and for all.

  They had nothing in common, never had. Her mum and Shareen were more like sisters, an observation made repeatedly during Shareen’s early modelling days by many people in the industry, while she’d been virtually invisible.

  She’d liked going unnoticed, slipping beneath the radar while people, including her parents, fawned over her sister. It was when they’d turned their meddling make-over ways on her that her life had become a misery.

  She’d weathered their fussing, their interference in her life from her diet to her clothes and now that she had her own style, her own success, they still treated her as if she came a distant second—something that mattered more than it should.

  ‘Do you have any siblings?’

  ‘One, a sister.’

  She waited for him to ask who she was, what she did, were they close but thankfully the buzzer sounded, giving her a much needed reprieve.

  She didn’t want to talk about her supermodel sister, didn’t want Chase’s eyes widening with admiration then quickly narrowing with assessment as he inevitably compared her with the gorgeous worldwide phenomenon that was Shareen and found her lacking.

  And that would hurt more than she’d like to admit for in the space of a day she’d come to value what Chase thought of her.

  She liked that he flirted with her. She liked that he admired her. And she really liked that he found her fascinating.

  How long would that last if he discovered she was a distant second to the stunning Shareen?

  When Cari breezed into the room Lola tried not to do a double take. From the top of
her immaculately styled mahogany-streaked hair to the bottom of her designer suit trousers, she was like a female version of Chase.

  ‘Hi, you must be Lola.’

  Even her handshake was like her brother’s, strong and brisk, and while Lola knew she shouldn’t be intimidated something about this businesswoman rattled her, as if she’d see right through her.

  Then Cari smiled and the genuine warmth she saw there went a long way to settling her nerves.

  Donning the smile she used to greet customers, she said, ‘Lola Lombard, your hostess for the hen’s week.’

  To her amazement, Cari clapped her hands and did a little jig on the spot.

  ‘I know! I can’t believe my brother organised all this but I can’t wait.’

  Cari’s excited gaze swept over her and she stiffened, an old habit born from years of scrutiny, but there was no judgement here.

  ‘I have to say, I absolutely love your dress. It’s gorgeous! Is it an original?’

  Buoyed by Cari’s gushing—if she was this excited about a dress, wait until she saw what she had in store for her at her hen’s party—Lola nodded.

  ‘It’s a favourite. I picked it up online, unworn, from the daughter of an old dancer who’d stored all these new dresses away in the attic, decades ago.’

  ‘That must’ve been some find.’

  ‘It was. I’ll bring the rest along; you can check them out.’

  Cari’s eyes widened like a true aficionado. ‘That’d be great. I’ve always wanted to own one, though goodness knows where I’d wear it.’

  She grimaced, waved a hand at her suit. ‘I’m stuck in these all day every day.’

  ‘Ahem.’ Chase cleared his throat and they both swivelled towards him, Cari chuckling at his pained expression while she bit back a grin.

  ‘As much as I’m glad you two are hitting it off, all this talk of frocks is making me cringe.’

  Cari snorted. ‘Don’t mind him. He’s just used to being the centre of attention.’

  Cari nudged her as if they’d been friends for ever and once gain Lola marvelled at what it would’ve been like to have a sibling like either of the Etheridges.