Chapter Thirteen
I drag my fingers through my hair, catching my chewed-up nails on several tangles.
Zoe’s dress needs to be amazing , it has to enchant her so greatly that any snide criticisms she might have been saving for me are blown out of the water. In many ways, this feels like the most important dress I’ve ever designed before.
So why is it that I’m two days away from her appointment and my pencil has barely touched paper?
The answer to that is simple - I’ve been avoiding it.
Oh, I’ve been plenty busy with other dresses, Joanie’s cruise gown is nearing completion and I’ve ordered some fabulous damask silk for Lucy’s costume, but I’ve sort of been pretending Zoe’s wedding dress doesn’t exist. And it won’t exist, if I don’t get a move on and start work on it!
But right now, I can’t think about that. Right now, my main focus is Lucy.
Hot pink design folder clutched in my hand, I take the short walk to Green Finch Lane, where I find a charming little cottage with an apple tree in the front garden, just as Lucy said. I knock on the pale primrose door, and I hear a brief mumbling inside before it opens to reveal my friend.
‘Come in, come in!’ She ushers me over the doorstep and into the entry hall.
Faded cornflower wallpaper that must be several decades old clings with what little life it has left to the walls, but the dark wood flooring looks fresh and new, suggesting Lucy’s beau Alex the handyman has been working his magic around here.
‘You came at the right time, I just put the kettle on.’
I follow her through the narrow hallway into the kitchen, where she pours out tea into two chipped, starry-patterned mugs.
‘Welcome to Appleseed Cottage!’ She throws her arms out, gesturing to the cluttered, tiny kitchen. ‘It’s not much, but it’s home.’
‘It’s practically a palace compared to the flat above the boutique.’ Gingerly, I sit on a rickety wicker seat at the kitchen table and open up the folder, nerves tugging at my chest. ‘Are you ready to see the design?’
Eager as a puppy, Lucy plops down on the creaking chair opposite me. ‘Gimme, gimme!’
With bated breath, I hand it over, that tugging in my chest transforming into a frantic yank.
‘Oh wow, it’s incredible!’ She holds the design up to the light, examining it closely. ‘I can already imagine how it will look in real life.’
Finally feeling as though I can breathe, I release a huge sigh of relief.
‘I’m pleased you like it, is there anything you want to change or add?’
Firmly, Lucy shakes her head. ‘Nope, this is perfect. You’re a real visionary!’
The praise has me spluttering into my mug and I flap my hands dismissively.
‘Seriously, you are.’ She leans across the table and peers at me. ‘You don’t believe in your skills?’
Dithering, I shrug my shoulders. ‘I suppose I must do, because I wouldn’t have rented out the shop, would I? But … I don’t know, after everything that happened at Fashion Week last year, I’ve just felt a little unsure of myself.’
‘If you ask me, what happened should have cemented your confidence in your abilities.’ Lucy shoots back, punctuating her point with a sip of tea. ‘I mean, if another designer copied your work, then surely it was worth copying?’
I smile weakly over the rim of my mug, realising it’s pointless to try and explain. The truth is, the Garden Gown was the pinnacle of my career, and it was stolen from me. I’ll never be able to design anything that beautiful again.
After two more cups of tea and a good old gossip, we say our farewells. Now that Lucy has given my design the okay, I can get started right away. As I stroll down the garden path, I begin planning out the rest of the day in my head.
Okay, I’ll start making up the under layers first, then I’ll have a quick lunch, then hopefully the delivery guy will be here with the damask -
‘Lovely day, isn’t it?’
Startled, I pivot on my heel. A silver-haired man is kneeling down to weed the flowerbeds of his front garden, smiling brightly.
‘Yes, I suppose it is.’ I pause by his cherry red gate to admire the perfectly preened rose bushes. ‘What a beautiful garden you have.’
‘Why, thank you. And what a beautiful accent you have, my dear!’ He pulls off a gardening glove. ‘The name’s Victor.’
Giggling, I shake his outstretched hand. ‘Lottie, a pleasure to meet you. I wish I had a garden like this, but my flat only will allow me a window box.’
‘Well, a window box can be very fetching, and you can always bring some plants indoors, I for one adore to have a touch of nature inside!’ He chuckles warmly. ‘I hope you won’t think me nosy, but I saw you were visiting my neighbour Lucy, and I thought I’d just say hello.’
‘Not at all, Victor.’ I say, ‘Yes, I was showing Lucy the final design for a dress I’m making for her.’
‘Ah, is that for her publisher’s ball? She told me all about it, how exciting!’
‘It is indeed. Would you like to see the design?’
‘Oh, could I?’
He oohs and ahhs as I hold it up before him, careful not to touch the paper with his gardening glove.
‘I say, this is fantastic, and very historically accurate, too!’ Victor beams at me from beneath a bushy white moustache. ‘Lucy will be the belle of the ball.’
‘Funny you should say that, that’s actually the name of my shop.’
‘Is it really?’ He chortles, hands on his hips. ‘Well, how about that?’
I smile as widely as he does, his infectious spirit cheering me. ‘I better be off, I’ll leave you to your gardening.’
‘It was splendid to meet you, Lottie!’ He waves his gauntlet-ed hands in the air after me.
‘Meeting you was, erm - splendid, too!’
*
Back at the boutique, I leap straight into work-mode. I snip and stitch solidly for hours and hours … until I realise the sun is dimming outside and when I check the time on my phone, I’m stunned to find it’s quarter past eight.
Still, all the effort paid off, I now have a bodice and skirt made up in calico. I’ll have to see if Lucy can pop in some time this week to ensure it fits, it would be a disaster to start cutting the final material only to discover I’ve made the pattern too small.
Tilting my head to the side, I study the dress as it sits on the mannequin, my mouth twisting to one side and the other. It takes a lot of imagination to picture the final dress when it’s at this stage, off-white calico isn’t the most inspiring of fabrics, after all.
Deciding I’ve toiled long enough for one day, I climb the stairs to the flat and collapse face first into the sofa. When I picked up a pencil at six-years-old and announced that I was going to be a fashion designer, I hadn’t expected it to be this exhausting - both mentally and physically.