Page 47 of The Last Love Song
Sorcha hummed to herself as she dusted the bottles on her marble-topped counter. If she continued to work, then along with Con’s income, they might be able to afford a flat with a separate bedroom...and maybe even their own bathroom. She was all too aware of something suitable that would be available in their building in a few weeks’ time.
She watched the security guard unlock the main entrance to the store. The noise of the traffic roaring around Piccadilly Circus echoed across to her.
‘Here we go, another eight hours of flogging that fragrance,’ moaned Gladys, the girl who worked with her behind the counter. ‘And me with an almighty hangover. Just the smell is making me want to puke.’
‘Breathe through your mouth then,’ Sorcha smiled. She was used to Gladys’s constant complaining.
‘I suppose I could put a peg on me conk,’ chuckled Gladys. ‘Might not be the best advertisement Elizabeth Arden’s ever had, though.’
‘Excuse me for interrupting your little joke, but I want a two-ounce bottle of Blue Grass.’
‘Of course, madam.’ Sorcha glanced at her customer and realised she’d seen her before, in the store canteen. She took a bottle of Blue Grass off the shelf. ‘Would you like it wrapped?’
‘No thank you. Just put it in a bag. I’m in a hurry.’
‘Of course, madam.’
As Sorcha took a bag and popped the perfume inside, she felt the woman’s eyes boring into her.
‘How tall are you, young lady?’
Sorcha looked around to see if the woman could be talking to someone else. But no, the question was definitely directed at her. ‘Me?’
‘Yes, of course you,’ said the woman impatiently.
‘Um, about five feet and seven inches, I think.’
‘Mmm. And what do you weigh?’
Sorcha shook her head. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know.’
‘Waist? Bust?’
Sorcha began to blush. She shrugged. ‘No, I’ve no idea. That’ll be two pounds and six shillings.’
‘Thank you.’ The woman handed over the money. ‘What time is your lunch break?’
‘Twelve o’clock, madam.’
‘Good. Then come and see me on the third floor at five past twelve prompt. I want to take some measurements. But you might do, you might just do. Five past twelve sharp, mind. Good morning.’
Sorcha stared open-mouthed as the woman strode off. She turned and saw that Gladys was watching her too.
‘Coo-ee! You know who that was, don’t you?’
Sorcha shook her head.
‘That is the manager, or chiefvendeuseas she prefers to beknown, of the designer clothes department upstairs. If she wants to take your measurements, she might be interested in you being one of the house models.’
‘And what is a house model?’
‘It means you wear the gowns that a customer wants to see. It’s not really like being a proper model like Twiggy or nothing, but it’s more glam than standing here squirting the air all day.’
‘I see. Why would she be wanting me, though?’
‘Well, you don’t scrub up bad, do you, Sorcha? You know you’re pretty so I’m not gonna tell you. Oh well, looks like I’ll be heading for a new partner in crime behind here. You’ll still speak to me when you’re all grand on the third floor?’
Sorcha chuckled. ‘Of course I will.’
