If the Dress Fits (17 page)

‘As good, if not better, than anything you can get in any of your fancy London stores, eh, Callie?’

‘Absolutely gorgeous, Kath. I love the peaches and cream colour palette. Could you hold it up whilst I take a picture of it to email to my friend Scarlet? Be prepared to get your first order!’

After she had sent the photo to Scarlet, Callie took a moment to surreptitiously survey the diverse but happy gathering.

First Nessa, arched over the glass counter with her friend Julia as they spread out and pinned the woolly squares, ready to sew together for the hospice blanket project. Then there were the students from St Hilda’s, Alicia, Polly and Megan, giggling as their ducked under the table to retrieve their burnt-orange yarn like the naughty schoolgirls they were.

But it was in contemplation of Marcia that Callie stalled. Whilst her tawny hair remained long and unstyled, she had ditched her mother’s reading glasses and her face glowed as she patiently guided Marc’s hand through each stitch until, with a whoop of delight, he completed a row of moss stitch. A smile turned the corners of her lips as she exchanged a silent glance with Iris. When the class broke for their coffee and patisserie treats, Callie continued her study of the shy young girl and realised the change was not merely physical. Callie had never seen Marcia so content.

‘Those girls from St Hilda’s are a hoot, aren’t they?’ Delia said as she curled her fingers around a mug of coffee. ‘I’m delighted to see that youngsters are rediscovering the crafting bug. Polly said three more of their friends will be along next time. At this rate, as long as Callie stops giving away these delicious pastries and coffee and starts charging proper prices for them, we might just manage to turn this place around.’

‘Oh, I hope so!’ Marcia interjected. ‘It’s shocking what’s happening to the high street, just shocking. Mum didn’t want me to say anything before the meeting, Callie, but this morning we received notification from the council about another application for planning permission, this one for the petrol station on the corner of our street. You know, Hargreaves & Sons that closed down eighteen months ago? Well, no prizes for what’s being proposed – a block of eight executive apartments.

‘All the houses round there are Victorian, stone-built terraces and semis, and they want to throw up a four-storey, brick-built monstrosity! Well, if it has anything to do with me, it will
not
happen.’ Marcia emphasised the last four words. Her cheeks burned as she lowered her lashes. She twiddled with the hand-knit scarf around her neck. ‘I’ve drafted a written objection to the council setting out the reasons for our objection, but with all the businesses closing it creates a circle of collapse. The properties are renovated into housing only city dwellers can afford as weekend retreats which perpetuates the problem of dwindling resident numbers and lack of daily trade.’

‘You are absolutely right, Marcia,’ Callie nodded; then, wrestling with her conscience, she decided to add her own submission of persuasion to the conversation. ‘Marcia, I hope you don’t mind but I read one of your short stories the other night. It was excellent, absorbing, I adored Lance, fell in love with him actually, and I loved the twist at the end. Could I just make a suggestion?’

Marcia raised her chin and met Callie’s eyes. She nodded, awaiting her pronouncement without a smidgeon of nerves. And why should she be nervous? After all, she was a published author with a national magazine.

‘Have you ever thought of extending the story into a full-length novel? I can see you are an accomplished writer of short stories for the women’s magazine market, but I firmly believe that if you submitted your work to a book publisher they would snap you up in a millisecond. Why don’t you give it a try? What have you got to lose? You already have an army of fans, me included!’

‘Thanks, Callie. I’ll think about it.’

Before anyone else could comment, the doorbell rang and all eyes swung to check out the new arrival.

‘Oh, hi, Tom, come on in.’ Callie swooped across to the coffee machine, anxious to thank him for the tray of baked goodies and offer payment. ‘Cappuccino?’

‘Thanks, Callie. I just popped by for the tray. It’s from my window display and I need it for tomorrow morning. You can keep the cupcake pyramid until later in the week, though.’ His green eyes spotted Marcia and swiftly averted their gaze to fix on Callie as a crimson blush seeped across his unshaven cheeks. ‘Erm, how was your evening? What’s your team of knitters and sewers called again?’

‘Cupcakes & Couture!’ Callie laughed. ‘So I actually have you to thank for half of it. We’ve had five new students join the ranks tonight, although I suspect it was your culinary delights that brought them here rather than my knitting and dressmaking skills.’

Callie smiled at Tom but he was studying his feet so she glanced across to Marcia. She realised immediately what was happening and why Marcia had seemed to exude an uncharacteristic glow that evening.

As it seemed no one but she intended to aid the path of conversation, Callie ploughed on. ‘Any news from St Hilda’s about the after-school-club cookery lessons, Tom?’

‘Not yet, but Marcia did an awesome job writing down the recipes and the methods as well as designing the lesson plans. I’m just not convinced my skills are what the school is looking for and, anyway, every bit of my time is already taken up with running the shop, visiting Dad, doing the books…’

‘Tom, you’re exactly what the school needs,’ said Nessa. ‘I’ll have a word with the head tomorrow and get back to you. She’s been deluged with paperwork for the forthcoming OFSTED inspection.’

‘Thanks, Nessa,’ said Marcia, flashing a triumphant smile in the direction of Tom.

‘Come on now, everyone, we need to get back to work,’ urged Callie. She unfolded a sheet of acid-free tissue paper to display her lingerie samples. ‘I’ve finished the teddies and the baby dolls I showed you photos of last week. What do you think?’

Ooohs and aaahs rippled through the room as the class stroked the silk and marvelled at the workmanship.

‘These are just beautiful, Callie. Is this the sort of thing you have in mind for your shop in London?’ asked one of the WI women.

‘Yes, as well as a selection of hand-sewn silk garters, bustiers and basques, and embroidered bra and knicker sets. Every penny that is made will be filtered back to those members of Cupcakes & Couture that wish to contribute.’

‘I’m in.’

‘Me, too.’

‘You can count on me, too.’

‘And I’m going to be your first customer, Callie. I have to have that teddy, it’s just gorgeous,’ said Julia. ‘And can I order one in bronze for my sister?’

‘Sure,’ Callie smiled.

A wave of appreciation washed over her. Perhaps her love of all things fashion hadn’t deserted her after all. She flopped down onto the couch and tilted her head against its back, twisting to her left as a sudden movement at the shop window caught her eye.

What the…

***

‘Is this it?’ asked Lilac. ‘The Yorkshire branch of Callie-Louise Bridal Couture?’

Nikki and Tish stood on each side of Lilac as they peered into Gingerberry Yarns. The plate-glass window had steamed up and trickles of condensation ran in parallel lines from top to bottom, collecting in tiny pools on the window sill.

‘I’m not sure what I’m seeing exactly, but it looks like a bunch of old ladies sitting around a table, knitting. What do you see, Nikki?’

Nikki groaned inwardly. For the first time she found herself cursing her ever-present need for efficiency. She’d anticipated the meeting with the bishop would take a lot longer than it actually had – it seemed he had an even more punishing schedule than a BAFTA-winning actress. When they’d emerged from the Minster she’d called their limousine service and they’d dashed across to Allthorpe. She’d thought that Callie could probably utilise the extra time with Lilac after she’d made the announcement. She checked her watch. Eight-thirty. Clearly Callie was busy doing something else.

‘Do you think those ladies are her assistants?’ asked Tish, her mouth gaping as she watched a lady in a wheelchair roll over to the table by the door and help herself to a selection of cupcakes from a giant pyramid to take back to the gathering.

‘Maybe,’ replied Nikki, her hand over her eyes as she strained to understand what was going on inside. ‘I think some of them are sewing.’

‘It looks like lingerie,’ murmured Lilac.

‘Oh, God!’ spluttered Tish.

‘What?’

‘No, nothing,’

‘What?’ Lilac tucked her wavy bob, the colour of liquid caramel, behind her ears and placed her hands on her hips. ‘You’ve forgotten to order my lingerie, haven’t you, Tish?’

‘Yes.’ Tish scrunched up her shoulders and creases appeared across her brow as she waited for the blow to fall. ‘Sorry.’

‘Doesn’t matter; I’ll sort it. Now, are we going to risk being labelled a trio of sad voyeurs or are we going inside?’

‘I think we should go back to the car and wait until this, erm, this meeting has finished,’ suggested Nikki striding back towards the sleek limo with blacked-out windows and the most handsome driver she’d set eyes on. It was probably the uniform that did it, though… it was one of her weaknesses that she was working hard on eradicating. Or maybe it was the spicy cologne, or his broad muscular shoulders, or his…

‘Oh, God, let me through.’ Lilac pushed past Tish and Nikki and opened the door. The bell tinkled above her head. ‘Quaint!’

The chatter ceased and all heads swung in unison to look at the elegant, six-foot-tall movie star who had stumbled into their world from another planet.

‘Oh, this is adorable. You must be Callie-Louise?’ Lilac stepped into Gingerberry Yarns and was immediately enveloped by a sense of calm and comfort. ‘I’m Lilac Verbois. I love your shop! Are you having a party? Oh wow, these cakes! Do you import your pastries from Paris?’

Callie rose from her place at the head of the gigantic mahogany table and took a couple of steps forward. ‘Yes, I’m Callie-Louise. What can I… What are you… Why?’

Lilac drew herself to her full height, straightened her shoulders and cleared her throat. In her best presenter’s voice she said, ‘I’m here to announce that Callie-Louise Bridal Couture has won the Lilac Verbois Wedding Gown Competition! Congratulations!’

There was a moment’s silence. Callie’s hand flew to her mouth but Nessa was quicker off the mark. ‘Oh, my God! Awesome!’ she shrieked and the room burst into noisy chatter, only now it was a full octave higher than before the announcement.

Nessa and Delia gathered a stunned, silent Callie into their arms and kissed her. ‘Well done, Callie!’

It took half an hour for the ladies to calm down and have a variety of items autographed, by which time their Cupcakes & Couture session had ended and they had to start packing away.

‘So, Cupcakes & Couture,’ mused Lilac, who had been given the Throne of Honour at the head of the table where she was being shown the various finished products of the group’s toil. ‘I love this bridal lingerie. I think you might have just saved someone’s skin, ladies.’ Lilac smirked as she shot a look across at Tish who was loitering next to the cake table, her hand held under her chin to catch the crumbs from the fifth pistachio macaroon she’d indulged in. ‘Are they silk?’

‘Yes, it’s organic silk. I source it for the salon in London from a small women’s collective in India. Everything has been hand-sewn and embellished by the Cupcakes & Couture ladies.’

‘I particularly like this teddy. I’d like to order seven, please, in different shades, one for each night of our honeymoon. And could you design me a bridal basque in this fabric please, and matching knickers?’

‘Erm, yes, of course.’

‘Don’t tell me you make these delectable little cakes yourself as well, Callie?’ Lilac bit into a cupcake topped with the palest pink icing and sprinkled with edible glitter. ‘Absolutely heavenly. How are the macaroons, Tish?’ Lilac giggled at the look on her wedding planner’s face when she realised she’d been caught in the act.

‘Delicious,’ Tish mumbled through a mouthful of buttercream, ‘and these peppermint
millefueille
are to die for, if a little difficult to eat.’

‘Oh, no, Miss Verbois. These are supplied exclusively for our Cupcakes & Couture evenings by internationally trained pastry chef, Tom Wallington,’ announced Marcia. It was the first time she’d spoken since Lilac and her entourage had arrived, but the pride in her eyes on Tom’s behalf caused Callie’s heart to flutter.

‘Wow, you do have some fabulously talented people in this village, don’t you? I have my five-tier wedding cake ordered already.’ Lilac raised her eyebrows at Tish, just to check, but she was teasing her. ‘Do you think it would be possible for your supplier to prepare, say, twenty-five of these cupcake pyramids? The children that we’ve invited to the wedding will adore them – it’s a much better option than stodgy fruit cake. Oh, I’m so excited!’

Lilac kicked off her shoes and sat back in her chair, casting her eyes around the women. ‘You know, I really do miss all this female camaraderie. Getting together with a group of friends to spend the evening gossiping, swapping secrets, asking for advice. You’re lucky, Callie. Now I understand why you have a branch of Callie-Louise in Yorkshire. It’s your home; these are your friends who are willing to support you through life’s ups and downs. I was born in Yorkshire, too, but sadly I don’t have a bunch of friends to come home to.’

Callie smiled at Lilac, but tears prickled at her eyes. Why had it taken such a devastating loss for her to realise how fortunate she was that she still had roots in her home town? That there were friends here who loved her no matter how long she’d been away? Nessa, Seb, Dominic, Archie – even Theo, if she let him. It was time she started to appreciate her good fortune and gave something of herself back.