Chapter 38
Since Tilly had learnt that Otto was not in possession of a wife, she’d thought way too much about the oyster night.
Much of it had involved being in a flap.
Mostly the flap was caused by what it even was that he’d asked.
She’d gone back and forth so many times that part of her had plumped for not going at all.
Then she remembered the fireworks that had made themselves known the moment she’d clapped eyes on him, and by God was she going to go.
Wild horses wouldn’t have kept her away.
Whether it was a date or not, as the case may be, there was no doubt that the mere thought of being in the vicinity of Otto had led to a lot of consulting with Tilly’s non-existent wardrobe.
That’s when things got tricky. She’d tried on a pastel blue strappy dress about six times, paired her white jeans with a green silk shirt and her espadrilles.
Nothing worked, and nor did the sight of what looked back at her.
Her black trousers with a white shirt made her look as if she still worked in the five-star hotel, and mostly she felt dumpy, past her sell-by-date and tired around the edges.
All in all, Tilly reiterated that she needed to raise her wardrobe game and then some.
It wasn’t as if she didn’t have a clue about what she wanted to look like when she turned up at the oyster night.
She knew exactly the look she wanted. That was the easy bit, and she had a vision all set in her head.
A look that had been with her whilst wrapped in tropical heat, fans whirring overhead, surrounded by jungles of lush deep greens.
Tilly had travelled with her vision for long enough: an English summer afternoon, all pretty tea dresses, little cardigans, leather sandals, tassels and Pimms. The sort of Sunday afternoon where one sits at a cricket match on a lawn chair plonked on the grass with not a care in the world.
As if you’d just thrown on a casual breezy dress and not made any sort of effort at all.
The problem was she had a severe lack of tea dresses, and she needed a mammoth effort to scrub up well.
Nothing in Tilly’s wardrobe fit the bill in the slightest. The dress she'd worn to Lucie's gathering didn't cut the mustard, and the strappy sundresses designed for tropical heat now felt bizarrely out of place.
On a mission to find something to wear, she'd walked to the tram, got off near the bakery, gone into a local boutique and walked out again because of the prices.
She then followed a similar routine in another shop and more or less decided that the white jeans would have to do.
Tilly did not have spare cash to throw at an outfit.
Deciding to head to Darlings for a nice coffee, a few minutes later, she pushed open the door. Evie, the owner, smiled. 'Hi again. How are you? Doing well?'
'Yes, thanks.'
Evie pointed to a table about halfway down the side alongside floor-to-ceiling shelving groaning with small coffee bowls. 'Coffee for one?'
'Yes, please.'
'Basket?'
Tilly realised that you didn't ask what was on offer in the basket. You got what you were given. It was a local custom that was going to take some getting used to. 'Love one, thank you.'
Evie zipped off and then scooted back over with a small brown bowl with a fluted top and a little leaf engraved around the top. 'There you go. The basket is on the way. What are you up to?'
Tilly smiled. 'Actually, I've been in a few of the boutiques on Darling Street. I've realised I've not got much that suits being back home. I've either got my big coat, a puffer jacket or swimsuits and sundresses.'
'Ahh, yes, and it can get nippy when the fog rolls in. Looking for anything special?'
Very, very special. However, there was no way Tilly was going to let on about Otto and the oysters. 'No, no, just having a look, you know?'
'Have you been around to the parade on the far side of the bay?'
Tilly shook her head. 'Nope, I haven't.'
'There's a nice little boutique there. It’s not too pricey, and if you like a good charity shop scour, you might find something because there are a few over that side. Old school ones, you know, where people just drop stuff off, not all curated.'
'Oh, okay, thanks.'
A few minutes later, a small white basket arrived on the table.
Underneath a knotted napkin, Tilly smiled at what greeted her.
A good old-fashioned, still warm from the oven rock cake.
Taking a bite, she shuddered in pleasure.
The coffee alone was amazing, but so far, the contents of the baskets were out of this world.
Who even made their own rock cakes and nailed them? It appeared that Darlings did.
The shops on the parade were right up Tilly's street.
The little line of local shops was precisely what she'd sorely missed when she’d been marooned on a tropical island cleaning other people's toilets.
As she looked along the parade, Tilly thought that she could happily lose an entire afternoon pottering along from shop to shop and peering down at the bay.
One particular shop sat back behind a low wall on the quiet side of the bay, a little bow-fronted building with a hand-lettered sign and a window done up so beautifully you'd never in a month of Sundays think it was a charity shop at all.
In fact, the window dresser had skill by the bucketful; a little display showed a gorgeous straw hat and a matching leather-edged beach bag, a stack of paperbacks, a gorgeous summer dress and a few pairs of tortoiseshell sunglasses placed just so.
All topped with strings of bunting, an enormous jug of dried flowers and a wicker lamp Tilly had already earmarked for taking home.
Pushing open the door, Tilly waited for the musty old charity shop smell to land.
It didn't come; instead, the shop smelled of books, eucalyptus and a bunch of floppy-headed roses on the counter.
Inside, it was just as lovely as the window.
Rails of clothing squashed in cheek by jowl, shelves of crockery and glassware, a basket of tangled silk scarves, a whole wall of bric-a-brac that her dad would have rummaged through for an hour minimum.
Tilly, in her element after years of missing English shops, got stuck in.
The reason she’d gone shopping in the first place was forgotten as she pottered through the bric-a-brac.
What she was going to wear to the not-a-date date sailed off out the window as all sorts of lovely homey bits and bobs took her fancy.
Lots of lovely things would, with luck, be going home with her.
She'd been flicking along the dress rail for a few minutes, not finding much beyond a fair amount of going-nowhere dresses not in her size, when a young girl appeared at her elbow.
Sixteen or seventeen, perhaps, with a name badge that said, Maisie.
Slightly over-eager and clearly new to volunteering, keen was her middle name.
'Are you looking for anything in particular?
' Maisie asked. 'Only we've had loads of new stuff this week.
There's a whole load just come in from a house clearance up by the lighthouse, some really nice bits.
Posh couple.' She shook her head in little flicks that made her earrings shudder.
'They never got on here. My nan said it right from the word go that they wouldn't last long on Darling.
Didn't get the basket thing right from the outset.
Nan said that's always a way to tell. You know? '
Tilly smiled and said that she was looking for a dress or nice top.
Maisie took this as the green light and went off like a whippet, pulling things out and holding them up against Tilly with her head on one side.
A green wrap dress was held up in front of Tilly.
It was nice, but the green whipped her colour away.
Next came a linen pinafore that made her look as if she were at St Trinian’s, then a silky blouse the colour of clotted cream that had clearly cost an arm and a leg but was far too big.
Tilly nodded and hmm'd and held a couple of options against herself in the mirror and was just about to admit defeat and go back to the white jeans plan when Maisie made a small noise of triumph from somewhere down the far end of the rail.
'Oh, hang on. Hang on. Yep, this is fabulous.
In fact, there's a blue one and a pink one.
Duh, I should have remembered them straight away.
' She came back holding something out at arm's length as though it might get away from her, and Tilly's heart did a small and immediate flip.
'This literally just came in this morning.
I was about to steam it. What do you reckon? '
The dress had Tilly's name all over it. If it fitted, it would be perfect.
She touched the sleeve and nodded. A deep, rich blue cotton, soft and washed-feeling, block-printed all over with little cream botanical sprigs, the kind of thing found in a posh Chelsea boutique with bay trees either side of the door worn by women who lunched in little cafés by the Thames.
Long full sleeves gathered at the cuff, a tie at the neck finished with two little tassels, a wide ornate border worked round the hem in cream and faded gold.
No two ways about it, the dress was gorgeous, no glorious. 'Oh, that's lovely.'