Chapter Fourteen
A fresh bouquet of yellow roses sits proudly in the window of my little boutique, courtesy of Sarah, the florist.
She brought them round yesterday in a pristine crystal vase, free of charge.
‘Take it as an official welcome gift.’ She’d handed them over with a bright smile. ‘Yellow roses do signify friendship, after all.’
Since wedding season is approaching, she suggested we collaborate on our window displays and offered her floral services to me, and in exchange, I’ll lend her bridal accessories and whatnot for her florist. Touched that she thought to ask me, I happily accepted.
It’s both amazing and baffling how considerate folk are in Lily Vale. Everyone has been ever so kind to me, so welcoming and open, I truly feel as though I’m starting to become a piece of the community. In the city, you’re part of a hivemind, a bustling, ever-changing carousel of people and experiences. It’s great, but it’s quite exhausting. Here, everything is slower, more familiar, and though I’d always adored the bright lights of London and the romantic pull of Paris, Lily Vale is certainly not without its charms, surprising though they are.
I steal a glance at my watch and note that it’s about half past nine. I’m expecting Joanie to come in for her final fitting at ten o’clock. The big cruise is only a week away, and I want to ensure it fits and if not, make any adjustments.
A gentle breeze blows in as the door of the boutique opens slowly. I look up from the screen, ready to greet Joanie, but I’m met with Kit’s stubbled face instead.
‘Morning,’ he says flatly as he leans against the door frame.
‘Ah, it is you.’ I fold my arms across my chest, sparring his dourness with my own brand of sass. ‘I hardly recognised you without blueberry pie all round your gob.’
‘Ha, ha.’ A smirk melts over his face, causing his eyes to twinkle like twin shards of gold. ‘You know , round your gob sounds really weird in a French accent.’
I shrug. ‘I suppose most things do, to an English ear.’ One hand rested on my work table, the other at my hip, I cut straight to the point. ‘So, to what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘Pleasure?’ An eyebrow quirks as he crosses the floor to me. ‘You have a lofty opinion of the joy your company brings.’
‘Just tell me what you want!’
‘It’s not what I want, I’m just the messenger boy. Zoe says she wants the beading on Tanya’s dress to be lilac, specifically lilac. She was quite adamant about that.’
‘Okay, lilac. Got it. Was there anything else?’
‘Nope, that’s it.’ Kit glances at the floor and rubs the back of his neck, an uncharacteristic coyness overwriting his usual bravado. ‘It was just a quick visit, I have to go suit shopping with my best man in an hour, and I have no idea what size I wear.’
I frown. ‘Really? A man of your age, and you don’t know what size suit you wear?’
‘Hey, get off my back, I haven’t worn a full suit and tie since I was a kid. I’ve never needed one for work, so I’ve never thought about it before.’
‘Well I -’ Tentatively, I step forward. ‘I could take your measurements, if you like.’
A hint of pink shadows his cheekbones, but he offers a stiff nod. ‘Alright, if you don’t mind.’
‘Not at all.’ Gulping, I beckon him to the back. ‘It’s my job, I’m a professional.’
Once in the fitting room, I draw the curtains to give us some privacy, though it’s not like he’s stripping down to his boxers, or anything. That mental image rouses flames beneath my skin, and I quickly douse them with a sharp shake of my head.
Willing my fingers to work nimbly, I trace his broad shoulders with my tape measure. Our eyes meet for but a moment, but it seems as though time has frozen around us. Clearing my throat, I continue on. The two of us glance downwards, acutely aware that it’s time to measure his inseam.
Come on, Lottie! I scold myself. You’re a professional, you can do this measurement in your sleep.
My breath hitches as I slide the tape along his inseam, praying my hand doesn’t exactly brush against something it shouldn’t.
Keep it together, girl!
‘Okay, you’re all done!’ I announce hastily and promptly stand up straight. If I keep my distance, hopefully he won’t notice I’ve grown a little sweaty under the arms. ‘I’ll go and write them down for you.’
‘Thanks, I appreciate you taking the time.’
Flicking my wrist, I make a strange spluttering sound, something between blowing a raspberry and choking on my own saliva. ‘Oh, it’s no trouble at all!’
Without so much as a wave goodbye, Kit turns his back and steps out into the street. But before he disappears from view, I hear him call out an impudent farewell.
‘ Au revoir, Lottie Bell.’
Careful to be discreet, I creep to the shop window and watch him leave from behind the net curtain, my pulse beating out an unsteady rhythm through my veins. There’s something about him that gets under my skin, something so infuriating, so magnetic, so …
I pivot from the glass, my back rigid and my fists clenched. There’s no time to people-watch, not while I have a client dropping in shortly and heaps of other garments to bring to life.
Not five minutes after Kit leaves, Joanie turns up on my doorstep, clutching a wicker basket filled with farm-fresh produce, a nervous grin on her face.
‘Hello!’ Her voice wavers a little, showcasing her anxiety further. ‘I’ve come for the final fitting.’
‘Hi, Joanie! Yes, I’ve been expecting you, the dress is all ready through here.’ I wind a reassuring arm around her shoulders and usher her toward the dressing room. ‘Let’s try it on, shall we?’
Once I’ve buttoned up the back of the dress, Joanie clasps her hands to her chest, her eyes glistening with delight.
‘Oh, Lottie, it’s magnificent!’ she gasps reverently as she twirls this way and that in the mirror. ‘It’s more than I could have ever imagined.’
‘I’m so glad you’re pleased with it.’ And I truly am. Joanie was my first client here at Belle of the Ball , this dress will forever hold a special place in my heart, as will she. ‘Do you think Abe will like it too?’
‘Like it?’ She chortles, fist resting at her hip. ‘I think he’ll drop his cork leg when he sees me in this!’
We cackle heartily in unison, doubled over at the very thought. I love seeing a customer light up with joy, to witness their confidence shift and bloom. The models I dressed never so much as cracked a smile on the runway, well they couldn’t, it was their job to be stoic and moody. There was always a sense of pride when I flicked through fashion magazines and found my designs, albeit under the Hélène Laport brand, but this? This feels so much better than that, so much more authentic.
There’s no changes to be made as the dress fits like a glove, all that’s required is a final stitch here and there and a steam. With a promise to deliver it to Simmons farm on the morning of her cruise, I show Joanie to the door, but before she proffers the basket of fruit and vegetables to me.
‘Just a little something from the farm,’ she explains. ‘Call it thanks for all your hard work, and for making me feel so comfortable and … special.’
My eyes well up as I take the basket from her. ‘Thank you so much, Joanie. I’ve never had such a wonderful gift before!’
Once I’m on my own, I sink into the squishy chaise lounge, my heart melting like butter. I didn’t think much of this place when I first turned up three months ago, nor the folk who reside here, but after this simple act of generosity (and copious others I’ve encountered), I’ve made up my mind. Forget London, forget Paris - Lily Vale Village is my home, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to make my new life beautiful.
I gaze out of the window, watching the sleepy world go by. Sure, my designs aren’t going to make it into Vogue any time soon, but as long as I can make someone like Joanie feel like a Princess, well, it’s all worth it.