A Vintage Christmas (17 page)

‘In what?’ Lily sniffs. ‘Wearing clothes that look like they belong on an astronaut?’ She sees my face fall. ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong, darling, I just find these modern clothes so . . . baffling. Coco Chanel would turn in her grave if she saw that.’

Reluctantly I concede Lily is right. This top is for a person far more glamorous and daring than I’ll ever be. It’s for someone like . . . well, like Carly.

‘So who is it for, then?’ Lily asks impatiently.

‘Sorry, what?’ I’ve drifted off again.

‘That!’ She gestures at my top. ‘Keep up, darling!’

‘Oh,’ I shrug, feeling bashful all of a sudden, ‘I . . . I don’t know really. I just wondered what it’d look like. I guess I’m a bit fed up of looking like me.’ I note their concerned faces and I know I can always tell them how I really feel and that, most importantly, they’ll listen to me. ‘The truth is, I don’t want to be invisible any longer. I’m sick of being overlooked and fed up of waiting for things to change, because they never ever do.’

‘I’ve never heard such nonsense!’ Lily exclaims. ‘So what if you didn’t get that promotion? Something else will come up. You just need to put some positive energy out there. And as for the way you usually dress, well,’ she nudges me and winks, ‘you’re a beautiful girl but you could do with a
leetle
sprucing. Have you ever thought of trying a rouge lippy?’

I giggle as I imagine myself as a mini-Lily, fifty years younger but nowhere near as fabulous. ‘I would if I thought I could look as wonderful as you,’ I laugh.

‘You know, darling,’ she says conspiratorially, ‘the best thing to do if you want to impress someone is be yourself.’

‘But, Lily, I told you I’ve got no one I need to impress.’ I drain my tea, grab my coat and stand up.

‘Aha!’ She waggles a finger at me. ‘Then for the time being just focus on being happy with yourself. You’re perfect just the way you are.’

I smile at them both gratefully. ‘You have cheered me up enormously, much more than this silly top ever could. Thank you, ladies.’

‘Bye-bye, dear girl,’ Iris says, and waves regally. ‘See you next month!’

I’m lost in thought as I head back towards the stairs. I decide to go up to Personal Shopping on the first floor to see Carly and find out what happened with the dashing bloke she saw earlier. The store is, as usual, totally empty. I pass through the ground floor and spot Gwen and Jenny standing at opposite ends of their department, bored-but-desperate smiles painted on their faces, atomizers in hand ready to spritz the first person that comes along. I glance over at Handbags and see that Becky is still examining her pores. Up on the first floor I can just see poor Jane in Lingerie, slumped against the balcony, eating a cake whilst sorting beige bras into piles, and Barbara in Shoes is sitting on her little measuring stool, staring into the distance. I pop my head into Personal Shopping, but there is no one on the desk. I call out, but no one answers. Maybe Carly is still waiting for me in the stockroom.

I’m so busy trying to imagine the place back in Walter Hardy, junior’s day that I don’t notice that there’s someone behind me until I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder. My heart races as I glance down and realize I haven’t put my coat back on. I close my eyes and turn round slowly, waiting to be berated by Sharon.

‘Don’t worry, I’m going to take the top off now. I was only going to wear if for a while anywa . . .’ I open my eyes, expecting to see Sharon’s disapproving face, but what I see instead is a tall, movie-star-handsome, dark-haired man with broad shoulders, a jaw you could crack brazil nuts on, and bright, searching blue eyes that are looking at me in amusement.

‘Shit!’ I splutter, and attempt to cover my body with my hands as though I were actually naked. ‘I thought you were someone else. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ he says flirtatiously, his unmistakable American accent ringing out around the first floor. That’s the best offer I’ve had for ages . . .’

Feeling uncharacteristically brave, I fix my eyes on his and allow a half-smile to hover over my lips. ‘Do you mean to say the department stores you usually frequent don’t train their staff immediately to offer to strip off for you? How strange. It’s the done thing here in Hardy’s, you know. We find it’s the best way to get our customers to spend money.’

‘It’s certainly the best sales technique I’ve come across,’ he drawls sexily. His accent is as smooth and delicious as golden syrup being poured over freshly baked scones.

‘Well, we aim to . . . tease,’ I shoot back, and he laughs, a great, infectious booming sound that echoes round the department. I’d be embarrassed, but I feel like I’m in this weird vortex and no one else can see or hear us.

‘You’re funny! Carly, right?’ he says with a knowing smile. I blink at him, noticing how his mouth tilts deliciously in the corners causing two lines like punctuation marks to appear either side of his lips. His thick eyebrows lift expectantly, which makes another two lines appear in his forehead, like old-fashioned tramlines. I don’t understand how he can possibly mistake me for Carly and I’m just about to point out his mistake when it suddenly hits me. The top. It’s because I’m wearing this blasted top. Now it all makes sense.
This
is the guy Carly was talking about. Somehow, he’s mistaken me for her. Well, I
have
just walked out of Carly’s personal shopping department. But even so, he should know with one glance that I am not her. Perhaps there’s something wrong with his eyesight. I look at him through narrowed eyes.

‘Are you OK?’ he asks, and I realize I’m still peering at him.

‘Oh, yes . . . yes, I’m fine. I was just thinking that you need glasses.’

He laughs and nudges me. A crackle of electricity shoots down my arm and straight between my legs. He leans in and I blush as he murmurs, ‘Is that a style tip?’

‘That depends . . .’ I answer, trying to rack my brain for another, more clever response. He raises his eyebrows questioningly and tilts his head as he waits for me to continue. My mind goes blank. I can’t stop looking into his eyes; they’re utterly hypnotic. I blink and shake my head. ‘. . . Er, that depends on whether you value fashion over flirtation. After all,’ I add flippantly, ‘girls don’t make passes at boys who wear glasses.’

‘Really? That’s interesting.’ He looks amused, then puts his hand into his jacket pocket, pulls out a pair of black-rimmed spectacles and puts them on.

My mouth goes dry and I swallow quickly. Jesus, he looks even hotter, if that were possible.

‘I’ve always wondered why I’ve been single for so long,’ he laughs, and I swear I hear church bells ringing in my head.

‘Well,’ I squeak, then clear my throat and try again. ‘Now you know.’ I point at his frames then pull an agonized face, feeling terrible for lying to him.

Still laughing, he shakes his head as he slips them back into his pocket. ‘So that’s where I’ve been going wrong. I’ve always thought they made me look more intelligent.’

‘You’re American; it’ll take more than that, love,’ I blurt out, wondering why I suddenly sound like a character from Coronation Street and why I’m intent on insulting him.

Luckily, he throws his head back and roars with laughter. ‘I love the British sense of humour. You guys are so dry!’ He shakes his head and looks at me. ‘You know, I’ve heard a lot about you, Carly, but no one said how funny you are. Beautiful and stylish and intelligent, yes, but funny . . . ?’

He touches me gently on the arm again and I gulp as I look at him. He smiles at me and this time it’s the big reveal; a perfect chorus line of straight, white teeth are high-kicking their way across his mouth. I want to tell him he’s made a mistake, that I’m not Carly, but all the saliva has disappeared from my mouth (along with my voice, and the strength in my knees). Luckily I am saved because he speaks first.

‘I’d really like to take you out. If you’ll allow me, that is. I’ve heard so much about you. And you’re just how I imagined.’

I feel my heart plummet to my toes. I have to tell him.

‘I think you’ve got the wrong girl,’ I say softly, sounding much calmer than I feel, and I turn to go.

‘Surely that’s for me to decide?’ he replies quickly, his hand pulling me back to him. I stop, immobilized by his touch. ‘After all, isn’t that what dates are for? To find the right person?’ I gaze up at him and he looks meaningfully back at me.

I should walk away now, I know I should. This is Carly’s date, not mine. But he is looking at me so intently and my heart is thumping so wildly under this sparkly top that it looks like a glitter ball is bouncing out of my chest. And then I think to myself, so what if this cute guy thought I was Carly when he stopped me? He seems pretty determined now he’s met me to take
me
on a date.

I think about Carly and her life: the endless parties and dates, the trail of men who’ve lost their hearts to her, and the promotion she’s just got. She doesn’t need any more good fortune, surely? Would it be so wrong for me to grab this opportunity that’s been handed to me? After all, it isn’t like they’ve ever actually met. I’m not doing anything wrong. I can’t even be sure this is
definitely
the man she saw. I mean, he could be someone completely different. This could be another heart-stoppingly gorgeous man who’s just walked into Hardy’s this morning. Because obviously we get them
all the time
in here.

Sod it, I think. Why not chance my arm? The opportunity has presented itself and, as Dad would say, surely I should just ‘go for it’.

‘Do you want to try asking again?’ I say bravely, fixing my eyes determinedly on his. I wanted my life to change today, so maybe I have to force its hand a little. It’s not like working hard or waiting for good things to happen to me has worked so far. Maybe it’s time to try a different tack. The sequins on the Gainsbourg top prickle my skin like a conscience, but I ignore them. He smiles and adjusts the collar of the impeccably starched white shirt he’s wearing.

‘O . . . K,’ he drawls, and takes a step closer. He clears his throat. ‘Would you care to allow me to take you on a date to remember?’

‘And what if I don’t?’ I shoot back.

‘Don’t think I’ll hold it against you,’ he replies quickly, just like Clark Gable in
Gone With the Wind
. I think of Lily’s movie-star photos in her tearoom and suddenly feel like they have come to life and this is all happening in monochrome.

I teeter on the brink of doing The Right Thing. I should just say, ‘Actually, Mr Handsome American Man, I’m Evie, the stockroom girl,’ and then wait for him to retreat. I can then dream about what it might have been like to kiss those
really
nice lips of his.

‘Well . . . ?’ He smiles and his eyes crinkle at the corners. ‘Are you going to make my day?’ Oh heavens, now he’s Clint bloody Eastwood. ‘Will you go out with me, Carleen, I mean Carly?’ He brushes the palm of his hand against his temple and looks at me expectantly, vulnerably almost.

Just tell him the truth, Evie,
I think as I open my mouth and then, before I can stop myself I blurt out my response.

‘I’d like that very much,’ I reply.

Coming to you in 2014, a sparkling new novel from Ali Harris

Can one decision change your destiny or is it...

Written in the Stars

Have you ever wondered 'What if...?' What if you'd chosen a different path in life; taken another job, moved to a different city, married the other man.

Now imagine you had the chance to do both.

When Bea Bishop slips and falls while walking down the aisle on her wedding day, she is momentarily knocked unconscious. In that split second her world divides and her parallel lives take her on two opposing journeys. In one, Bea flees back down the aisle and out of the church to face up to her past. In the other she glides blissfully towards Adam, her intended - finally ready for the future she has been holding back from for so long.

But which life will lead Bea to her happy ending and what will happen when her two worlds collide again?

For fans of Sliding Doors, Sophie Kinsella and Cecelia Ahern

Available in eBook and paperback in June 2014