Page 27 of The Wedding Dress Repair Shop
There were such ructions after you’d left and I’m sure Mirrie has now told anyone who will listen about what happened, because she’s too stupid and self-obsessed to see how badly it reflects on her. Marco did realize it, once he’d calmed down, but it was too late then and anyway, he’d already rung Beng & Briggs, so I expect it will all come out anyway.
Marco was angry with Mirrie for letting the cat – or cats – out of the bag to me, too, so that you overheard.
Now the penny has finally dropped that Marco’d never intended dumping you for her at all, so currently the producer/star actress situation is just a trifle fraught.
The next bit made me smile, despite myself, because I’d been guiltily wondering how Beng & Briggs were getting on with a temporary replacement for the Titania costume, at such short notice. Charles, the assistant who would be hoping to step into my shoes, really wasn’t up to the job, especially any hand sewing, but that was no longer my concern.
Mirrie had to wear a Sugar Plum Fairy costume from stock for the dress rehearsal and I can tell you now, she was the sourest plum I ever saw!
Do keep in touch and let me know if I can ever do anything at all to help.
Will xx
‘Will’ sounded a lot friendlier and less precious than Wilfric, but I wasn’t surehowfriendly I wanted to be. He might have been unexpectedly kind and thoughtful, but he most definitely wasn’t my type. But then, if I didn’t answer his email, that would be the end of it because our worlds would not, in future, overlap …
*
I embarked on a whirlwind of activity that at least had the effect of making me so exhausted I collapsed into bed each night – only to wake up hanging off the edge, with Golightly in sole occupation of the middle of it.
I’d quickly reached the bottom of those first lists, but written at least two more since.
The flat was now tidy and as clean as a sea-scoured shell. The estate agent photographed the flat and put it on the market thesame day I’d been in to see them, and the Signboard Fairy had sneaked up while I wasn’t looking and planted a ‘For Sale’ sign in the few feet of gravel that passed for a front garden.
Honey had sent me the address of the cottage, which was 1 Pelican Mews, and a new photo of the exterior, showing the small stone cottage tucked into the corner of the mews next to the museum, an open-trellised arch over the door. There seemed to be a narrow passageway dividing the house from the next building.
Honey, ringing me up on Saturday afternoon to see how things were going, said oatmeal Berber carpet was being laid as we spoke, the last thing to be done. ‘Though there are vinyl floors in the kitchen, bathroom and utility room, and the floorboards in the hall were so good, I just had them sanded and sealed.’
‘It all sounds wonderful,’ I said. ‘I really think you ought to charge me rent for it.’
‘Oh, it’s a perk of the job, which won’t be hugely well paid,’ she said airily. ‘I’ll expect you to work all hours for a pittance, especially leading up to the opening day!’
‘I will – but for love of the work, rather than money,’ I assured her. ‘I’m so looking forward to unpacking all those dresses and finding out their histories.’
‘You’ll be as fascinated as I was,’ Honey agreed, butshewas clearly working down a list of her own, for she now said: ‘There’s a new boiler and radiators in the cottage. You’ve lost the second bedroom and gained a utility room because I removed the horrible bathroom from next to the kitchen and had a new one put in upstairs. The cottageisvery small,’ she added rather doubtfully.
‘It’s still going to be a lot bigger than my current flat,’ I assured her.
‘Well, that’s good, and of course, you also have the adjoining big workroom, which runs under part of the museum.Hugo had that done, to give the last curator a workroom for his ghastly stitching and stuffing activities, but that’s all a thing of the past,’ she added hastily. ‘I had Ginny, who has the New Age shop across the square, go through it and do some kind of cleansing ritual.’
‘Sounds fascinating!’
‘It seemed to involve a bowl of burning herbs and a gong, and she yelped a few times, but that might have been the bowl burning her fingers,’ Honey said vaguely. ‘It smelled quite funky when she’d finished, but in a good way.’
I thanked her for the measurements she’d emailed me, not only of the windows, but the rooms, too, so I could decide in advance where things would fit.
‘Oh, Viv did all that. It gave her something to do.’
‘Viv?’ I didn’t think I’d heard her mention a Viv.
‘Viv Greenaway, one of my oldest friends. She’s just lost her husband and is staying with me.’
‘The name sounds vaguely familiar,’ I mused.
‘She’s a poet. Her late husband, Brad Whittenstall, was too, and a much better-known one, probably because he was more outgoing, while poor Viv has always been shy and reclusive. It’s so rare for two creative souls to make a go of a marriage, but they were very happy, so I won’t be addingherwedding dress to the exhibits.’
I could imagine Honey’s grin when she said this.
‘Do thank her for me,’ I said. ‘I really appreciate it.’
