too busy looking at myself, though I think the actual word is admiring.
I run my fingers along the ribbon-like wrap-around top. The neckline is low, the cowl cut somehow both minimising and bringing attention to my chest. It’s not exactly white in colour, maybe more oyster, and there’s something almost Grecian about it. Whatever the style, I’ve never had a dress make me feel like this. Look like this. And as I step out from the box, Glenna’s smile is immediate.
‘This,’ she announces. ‘This is why I love my job. Darling, you look divine.’ Her voice seems to drop a whole octave on the last word. ‘Marco, the shoes.’ She snaps her fingers. ‘Not those ones, stupide!’
I’m handed a pair of matching sandals by her red-faced assistant. Spike heels and leather fashioned into silver ropes. I put them on, and the dress is pinned at the hem, and all the while, I can’t restrain my happiness. Glenna makes another few suggestions from her golden rack of gorgeousness, and as the dress is such a success, I find myself eager to try them on.
‘That’s gorgeous,’ Fee marvels, fingering the ruffle of a blouse by a French designer, Jour/Ne.
‘Why don’t you splurge?’ I suggest. But she just wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. While she’s not looking, I add it to my pile of purchases. Remy might be picking up Glenna’s exorbitant appointment fee, along with the dress, but the other things I’ll buy. Including my gift to Fee.
Glenna sweeps off in her low-slung Jaguar a little while later following delivery of double air-kisses to all and an almost emotionally charged au-revoir. Probably because she earned a fortune in fees and commission tonight. Marco hangs back to exchange numbers with Charles, but before he leaves, I ask him if he has anything in the van than might be a little more masculine. And he does; boxed gift sets containing a tie and a matching pocket square. I take two of the exact same design. While Charles might be currently enjoying a little flirt with Marco, I know he’ll just die when I tell him Remy and he are tie twins.
As everyone leaves, I deposit the last glass to the dishwasher when my phone buzzes with a text. A text from Monsieur Baguette, as I’ve saved Remy’s number in my phone.
Did you buy anything nice?
One or two things, I reply. If you’re good, I might show you when you get home.
If I’m very good, do you think you might take them off for me instead?
Mr Durrand, what kind of girl do you think I am?
There follows a series of short replies.
A smart one.
A stunning one.
Delectable from head to toe.
Not really a girl at all, but all woman.
A willing woman, I hope.
Also, mine.
That volley of texts. Those simple characters typed into his phone, the knowledge they bring, causes a series of tiny explosions of delight deep inside.
I missed you today, I type back, which is a pretty lame reply, compared to his.
I’ve missed you, too. But I’ll see you soon.
Any idea how long? Are you hungry at all?
Forty-five minutes. I had dinner earlier, but I’m sure you can guess what I’m hungry for.
I’ll see what I can rustle up ;)
A winky face. What am I, twelve?
A shimmer of anticipation washes through me as I place my phone down, and my eyes fall to the gift boxes of ties. And a spark of inspiration hits. I know just what my man needs after a hard day at the office.
Me!
42
Remy
Closing the door behind me, I resist the urge to call out honey, I’m home. I find myself smiling at my own ridiculousness, but if home is where the heart is, she is it.
I twist my head to my shoulders, left then right, the satisfying click of joints and stretch of cartilage easing the tension in my shoulders as I slide my jacket off. A fresh bowl of lilies sits in the centre of the Art Deco era occasional table, their scent sickly sweet and reminiscent of funerals. I make a mental note to ask the housekeeper not to order them again as I quickly sift through the mail.
Nothing of note. Also, nothing for Rose. Perhaps I should ask Paulette to sign her up to some circulars; mail in her name to tie her to the building that has already won her heart. She loves this old place, and I love seeing her here. I love us being here. Together.
‘Rose?’ I drop the mail to the