Phyllis took the listings back again. She fell silent, running her finger along the list of guests expected. ‘Sorry, love. Distracted. I was just checking the runners and riders for the Claridges do. At least ten of these are clients of mine and I’m frantically hoping I haven’t kitted out two archduchesses in similar confections. Bang would go my reputation overnight!’
At last she looked up with a smile of satisfaction. ‘Ouf! I’m in the clear. Right, I think we’re ready to take this chap on. Two things we’ll need: that bunch of keys I left over there on the draining board and a pair of scissors. Oh, and let’s not forget the pumpkin! Not sure whether you’re going to the ball or the dogs, love, but your auntie will get you there in style!’
Chapter Fifteen
Phyl hunted about in the kitchen and, suitably equipped, returned to Lily. ‘We’ll put the shop lights out now. But we’re not going far, just next door. I have something special to show you. Come on.’
Lily looked up at the façade of the shop adjoining. It had twice the frontage of the hat shop and was painted in green and gold with a distinctive curlicued script over the window announcing Madame Cécile. Modes. London and Paris.
‘I say, Phyl, is this all right, what you’re doing? Not breaking exactly as you have the keys, but definitely entering premises without the owner’s permission. Whatever’s Madame Cécile going to say?’
‘Mais Madame Cécile, c’est moi!’ said Phyl surprisingly. ‘The new Madame, anyway. Jacob bought the old one out and installed me in a ready-made business. I liked the name so I thought – might as well keep it. I don’t speak French and that’s a bit of a problem. Well, not much, as the clients don’t have the foggiest either. I’ve employed a French maid – a real one – and she’s teaching me ten useful phrases every day. I’ve been keeping this very quiet for one reason and another. And I’d rather you didn’t mention it to your parents, Lil. Come in. Let me put the lights on. It’s getting a bit dark now – we’ll be having a thunderstorm next. I’ll get Albert to drive you back to your digs. I’ve got the Buick out back.’
Lily entered a space smelling lightly of freshly laid carpet and expensive perfume and looked about her in awe. ‘Crikey, Phyl! I’ve never been in such a posh shop. Ankle deep in Axminster – shall I take my boots off?’ She went to run a hand over the gleaming mahogany surface of the counter, bounced on the tapestried upholstery of a Louis XVI chair and stroked the silken drapery adorning a mannequin. ‘Even your wax doll is too jolly stuck-up to notice me.’ And, suddenly concerned: ‘I say – does Jacob know what he’s doing, taking this on? It must be a very expensive place to maintain. Best part of London … a hundred square yards of showroom and offices to the rear, no doubt.’
‘Fitted out by Heals in the Tottenham Court Road,’ added Phyl with satisfaction. ‘It works well with my hat shop. I send the dress clients next door and the hat clients round here. And you needn’t worry about Jacob. We share the revenues and believe me – he’s doing all right!’
‘I forgot to ask – how’s his wife?’
‘Usual. Hanging on to life by her fingertips. Enjoying her bad health.’ That was all Phyl would say about her protector’s lawful wife. It was all she ever said before changing the subject. ‘But look around, Lily – are you seeing the possibilities?’
‘What? Are you suggesting I borrow one of these creations to knock the commander’s eye out?’
‘I think we could manage that. Nothing off the peg, of course – this isn’t Marshall and Snelgrove.’ Phyl sniffed. ‘All made to measure here. And it would take my best seamstress a week to make up a frock for you. But – listen. We mostly sell dresses by showing them off on models. That row of dinky chairs, on a Wednesday, is occupied by rich women and the occasional husband. They don’t mind being dragged along to a parade because they get a chance to ogle the mannequins without getting ticked off. The flesh and blood ones, I mean. I’ve got four on the books. Two French, two English. And I have a constantly changing set of dresses for them to show off. I’ve got a dozen demonstration gowns on hangers in the dressing room at the back. You can have your pick of them. Problem is, my girls are all nearly six foot tall and thin as a whistle.’ She eyed Lily critically. ‘You’re slim enough. You’ve got the Wentworth figure like me and your pa. Greyhound rather than fat spaniel like your mother. But I’ll need to do a bit of shortening. That’s where we’ll need the scissors.’ She took them from her pocket and brandished them. ‘Come on! Evening dresses on the left. Let’s pick something out!’