Little White Lies (25 page)

“You don’t understand, Stanley,” I tell him, perturbed by his reaction. “I’m not even a Reiki healer. I lied to you . . .”

At this Stanley laughs even more. “My dear girl, do you think I didn’t know that? I knew you weren’t a Reiki healer the minute I came inside your flat. Far too much clutter, no massage table, no nothing. But you have done more for me than any alternative therapist. You gave me what I really wanted—company. And it sounds like you gave Simon what he wanted, too. All this business of names, it doesn’t matter, you know. What matters is people.”

I look at him dubiously. “So you think Simon’s going to forgive me?”

“Forgive you? Of course he will. My dear, life is too short to not take every chance that comes your way. Simon knows that—that’s why he’s taken up a new career. It sounds like you need to talk to him. If he’s a sensible chap, he’ll understand. People do funny things for their hearts. That’s what it means to be human, you know.”

I rub my neck, aware of the tension that’s been building in my shoulders all day. It’s easy for Stanley to say Simon will understand—but what does he really know?

“You know, Bess died today. Two years ago today,” Stanley continues. “And do you know what I got in the post today?”

He motions over to the coffee table, where an opened letter is lying. Hesitantly I pick it up and look inside. It’s a letter from the Council.

“Planning permission,” says Stanley, half laughing, half on the verge of tears. “Planning permission for the shop. Ten years Bess was trying to get it, and it comes through two years after she died. Apparently there has been a change in the regulations or something . . .”

I look at Stanley, shocked. I suddenly feel incredibly selfish for worrying so much about Simon not welcoming me back with open arms—Stanley doesn’t have that luxury with the love of his life.

“I’m so sorry,” I manage to say eventually.

“Oh, don’t be. It’s called Sod’s law,” Stanley says ruefully. “Bess’ll be looking down at me now, getting cross because I’m not fulfilling her dream. But you can’t do that. You can’t live someone else’s dream, can you?”

He looks at me as if I might be able to tell him. As if I might know any better than he does.

“No,” I say gently. “I think you’ve got to do what makes you happy.”

“And you? What would make you happy?” Stanley asks me. “Getting Simon back?”

“Yes,” I say emphatically. “But I think there’s something else, too.”

“Ah,” says Stanley. “This sounds interesting. Not another trip to Bath, though?”

“No,” I say, grinning, “Not Bath. It’s just that Simon has proved to me that you can change things. He’s followed his dream, you know? And it’s made me realize that you have to make things happen, not wait for them to happen to you. I don’t want to do what other people think I should anymore—or even what I think other people
might
think I should do.”

“Quite,” says Stanley. “So . . . ?”

“So I’m going to work on a game plan.”

“A game plan,” Stanley says, nodding seriously.

“A game plan for my own shop,” I explain. “If the guy from Stallioni designs is so keen for me to be involved in his stock, maybe he’d be interested in me running a concession somewhere in a few years. I need to set myself some targets, and work out how to achieve them, y’know?”

Stanley smiles to demonstrate that he does indeed know.

“I could even put myself on the waiting list for a market stall at Portobello,” I continue. “You know, as a first step. That’s where the guy from Monsoon started, you know. One day a stall, the next day . . .”

“A small shop?” says Stanley, his eyes twinkling.

“Exactly!” I say happily.

“Or you could just bypass the stall and go straight to the shop idea,” suggests Stanley.

I look at Stanley uncertainly.

“It isn’t particularly big,” continues Stanley. “But it’s got planning permission. And it’s in a very good part of Notting Hill, just round the corner from Westbourne Grove. There are a couple of drawbacks—one of which is the old codger who lives upstairs, but he’s not so bad once you get to know him . . .”

Stanley trails off and his eyes twinkle as I realize what he’s saying. His shop. The antiques shop he ran with Bess. The one he’s just got planning permission for.

“You can’t be serious,” I say in a hushed voice.

“Couldn’t be more serious,” Stanley says.

“But I couldn’t . . . I mean, I wouldn’t know where to start with a proper shop . . .”

“Of course you would. And I can help if you want—I used to do the accounts and plans for the antiques shop. I’d quite like to have something proper to do, actually.”

I sit rooted to the spot, thoughts racing through my head. Surely I couldn’t do this. Could I? I can hear Archie’s voice in my head asking me to get in touch if I decide I want backing, after all. Julie’s voice telling me about Giovanni wanting me to be responsible for his line of shoes. And if I could get Julie and Lucy on board . . .

I feel a broad grin plant itself on my face, and I look at Stanley, whose eyes are glinting.

“Certainly food for thought, isn’t it?” he says, smiling happily. “Bess would be pleased.”

“I’ll think about it,” I say sternly, trying to contain my excitement. “You know that you are a very bad influence on me, don’t you?”

“At my age,” says Stanley wryly, “I take that as an enormous compliment.”

  18

A week and a half of hard graft later, I call Laura. Julie, who has proved herself to be a demon business manager as well as a great clotheshorse, has been coming round to my flat every evening and working out detail after detail, and now we’re ready to get started. Obviously we pick a day to call when Julie isn’t in. That way she can sit next to me while I do it and hear every word.

“Hi, Laura!” I try to sound nervous, not gloating. I’ve been preparing for this phone call all morning. If I sound too cocky, I’ll give the game away too quickly. And that would spoil all the fun.

“Natalie, oh, I’m so glad you’re in. I hear you’ve been away?”

I’ve never heard Laura sound so pleasant. It’s like she’s become someone else. Someone almost likable. But only almost.

“Yes,” I say airily, “I wanted to get out of London for a while.” Julie shoots me a look, and I nearly giggle, but manage to hold it together.

“Good idea!” says Laura brightly. I wish she would stop this fake camaraderie—it’s beginning to make me feel bad.

“So anyway,” she continues, “I was wondering if you might be able to come into the shop. To talk about your future at Tina T’s.”

I nearly make a caustic remark about my not having had a future at Tina T’s last time we spoke, but I bite my lip. This is not the time for sniping.

“Well, I’m a bit tied up right now, but I could maybe pop round early next week?” I say as casually as I can. “Say Tuesday?”

“That’s over a week away,” says Laura sharply. “What’s wrong with tomorrow?”

Ah, this is more like it. This is the Laura I know.

“I’m sorry, Laura, but I’ve got a few things to take care of. Tuesday’s the earliest I can make.”

Julie rolls her eyes and grins, then does a great impression of Laura looking thunderous.

“Fine,” I hear Laura say. “Shall we say lunchtime?”

“Lunchtime suits me. See you then.”

I put the phone down and hear my heart beating loudly.

“You did it!” says Julie excitedly. “Right, I’m off to see Stanley. Got some information about the planning I need to prize out of him.”

As she leaves, I tick Laura off my list. I’ve still got to get our business plan to Archie, but that can wait—he’s got stacks of information as it is. In the meantime there’s someone else I’ve got to call. I pick up the receiver again and call the number that Julie agreed to track down for me, scribbled on a Tina T’s receipt.

“Um, hello—is that Giovanni? It is? Oh, good. Look, this is Natalie Raglan. You may not remember me . . . oh, you do. Oh, that’s great. Well, I was wondering if I could pop in and see you tomorrow morning. I have a business proposition for you . . .”

The following Tuesday afternoon, Stanley insists on coming with me to Tina T’s. He’s promised he’ll wait outside, but he says he feels so involved in the plot that he wants to see what happens firsthand this time.

I squeeze Stanley’s hand for good luck before leaving him just outside the door and walking in.

Julie and Lucy are both in the shop when I arrive, and they wink at me as Laura greets me.

“Natalie, so lovely to see you. You are looking well!”

I smile sweetly at her. “Thanks, Laura.”

She looks at me uncertainly, then ushers me into the dressing room she uses for private clients.

“Coffee? Tea? Perhaps a glass of wine?”

“I’m fine, really,” I say pleasantly.

“Great. Well, look, as I said on the phone, I wanted to talk to you about your future at Tina T’s.”

“I didn’t think I had one,” I say, still smiling.

Laura shoots me a look. “Yes, well, we all say things we don’t mean sometimes. I just think we should perhaps review the situation.”

I pause to look at her. Her face is looking pinched, as always, and her clothes are virtually hanging off her bones.

“Review the situation?” I say eventually. “I thought you’d made it very clear you never wanted to see me again.”

I hear a snort of laughter. Julie and Lucy are obviously right outside the dressing room, hanging on every word.

“Natalie, look,” says Laura in faux big-sisterly tones. “I would like to work things out, if you’re amenable. I can offer you your old job back if you’d like to start on Monday. And we can discuss the clothes issue then.”

“The clothes issue?”

“The borrowing of clothes. Obviously I’ll need to bring in spot searches to stop the practice.”

“Right . . .” I say, “and what about the bullying issue?”

Laura’s eyes narrow.

“I’m sorry? I don’t think I heard that properly,” she says in a strained voice.

“You, bullying the staff. Accusing them of things they didn’t do, and not thinking to check the facts first. I just wondered if there would be spot checks for that, too?”

Laura’s face blackens. “You little brat,” she says angrily. “How dare you talk to me like that?”

“And what about spot checks for being a total bitch?” asks Julie, sashaying through the curtain.

“How dare you!” says Laura icily, her eyes flashing. “If you think I am going to take that kind of language in my shop, you are quite mistaken. And you can forget the job, Natalie. I’ve changed my mind. As for you, Julie, I’m going to have to think very carefully about your future.”

“Suits me,” says Julie calmly.

“Me, too,” says Lucy.

“You?” Laura trills. “Lucy, you stay where you are.”

“But I think you’re a bitch, too,” Lucy says, wide-eyed.

“Right, well you can collect your P45 along with the rest of them,” Laura shouts. “Natalie, get out. Julie, Lucy, you’d better think up a very good excuse for this behavior.”

“So I guess our little chat is over?” I ask Laura, as Julie and Lucy head for the door.

She stares at me, obviously confused.

“You can’t all just go!” she shouts. “You can bloody well apologize.”

“Ah, but you see, that’s not quite right, is it?” I say sweetly. “The thing is, we can just go. And we’re going to.”

“About time, too,” says Julie for good measure.

“But . . . Julie,” implores Laura, “I need you to run the place. Let’s talk about this. I’m sorry I overreacted. Let’s talk about your prospects . . .”

“Love to, but I’m a bit busy right now,” says Julie brightly. “New job, new horizons. Tell you what, you could take me out for a drink sometime—talk about my prospects then.”

“What do you mean, ’new job’?” hisses Laura. “You have a job here.”

“Ah, but you see I don’t, do I? Because you just fired me. Didn’t you?” says Julie pointedly.

“You did, she’s right,” says Stanley, who has just walked in. “Heard it all through the curtain,” he explains.

“And who is this?” Laura asks, looking at Stanley as if he were the lowest creature to walk the planet.

“My business partner,” I say, grinning broadly. “One of them, anyway. I think you may know another one—Giovanni Tivoli?”

Laura’s face looks like thunder.

“You have not heard the last of this,” she spits. “Mark my words, you have not heard the last of this.”

“Actually, Laura,” says Julie as we all leave the shop, “I think it’s you that hasn’t heard the last. And I reckon you’re not going to want to.”

We walk down Ledbury Road in silence, turn right down Westbourne Grove, then left again. My heart is thumping in my chest. This is it. This is the moment I’ve dreamt about all my life. Me in my own little shop. It’s just that Archie and Giovanni haven’t seen it yet. It seemed so easy, talking to Stanley, talking to Giovanni. Julie and Lucy said yes straightaway. And now it’s actually happening . . . I take a deep breath and try to listen to the others talking and laughing. It’s going to be okay, I keep telling myself like a mantra. It’s a lovely little shop. I just hope the others think so . . . What if they think it’s too small? Or too twee? What if Stanley changes his mind? What if Giovanni hates it?

After a few minutes Stanley stops.

“Well, here it is.”

Everyone stops and looks at the little cottage in front of us. When I see the white painted stone and the little sign saying “Finest Antiques,” I breathe a sigh of relief. It looks better each time I see it. It’s still the prettiest little house/shop I’ve ever seen. And Julie and Lucy seem to think so, too. Stanley gets out the keys and we all troop in.

I give Stanley a quick hug. “You’re sure about this?” I ask for the millionth time. He rolls his eyes. “I wish you’d stop asking me that,” he says impatiently.

I make some tea, then nervously look at my watch. Giovanni is due any minute, along with Archie. They were both excited by the prospect of opening a shop in Stanley’s house selling Stallioni’s new diffusion-line clothes and bags and the new shoe collection, but will they see the potential that I see in Stanley’s former storeroom? Enough potential to back the venture and cover the cost of remodeling?

My hands are sweating slightly as I hear the door creak open and I turn round to see Giovanni walk into the cramped shop.

His face is very serious. “I have just come from Tina T’s,” he says. “I understand you have upset the manager, no?”

We look at one another sheepishly.

“Well, I never like her, anyway,” he says with a smile. A few moments later Archie arrives.

“This is the shop?” he says, looking surprised.

I nod, and my heart sinks. He’s disappointed—he was obviously expecting much more than a tiny antiques shop, and he’s going to say no.

“It’s a lot of work,” says Archie seriously.

“Of course it is,” Julie replies matter-of-factly. “But we’ve got three estimates, and the builders reckon it could be sorted in six weeks.” She peers at Archie as he takes in the wooden beams and the battered wood floor.

“And just imagine it when it’s done!” I say excitedly. “The clothes rails over there; the shoes over here; the till and a display unit where I’m standing; the stockroom and office out the back—it’s perfect, just perfect!”

Giovanni is skipping around the shop banging walls and standing in front of the windows. Stanley winks at me and puts his arm round Archie’s shoulder.

“You’ve seen the extension proposals, haven’t you?” he asks. “Out the back we have twice the size of this room again.”

Then he smiles confidently. “I’m sorry—let me introduce myself. I’m Stanley Wickett. And you must be Archie and Giovanni,” he continues. “Let me walk you through the plans.”

Archie and Giovanni acquiesce, and I watch nervously as Stanley shows them the plans that Bess had drawn up all those years ago.

“I thought the utility area could be the changing rooms,” I say hesitantly, following after them as the three men walk through to the back, nodding seriously and listening to Stanley.

“Changing rooms. I see,” says Archie thoughtfully, as I exchange nervous glances with Julie and Lucy. Please don’t let this all have been for nothing, I beg silently. Please let this all work out.

Archie and Giovanni continue their tour outside and it’s another five minutes before they come back in.

“Well,” says Archie finally. “I presume that you’ve got your profit-and-loss and cash-flow forecasts sorted out?”

I look at Julie, who has pulled out all the stops to get all the finances sorted over the past week. Or rather, pulled out all the stops to encourage Jason to get our finances sorted. You’d never think it by looking at him, but the guy’s a trained accountant. He just decided he didn’t like figures and went into bar work instead. What Julie didn’t appreciate until recently is that Jason owns Canvas, which came in rather handy when we needed financial expertise and entrepreneurial finesse.

“All present and correct,” she says, passing some papers to Archie. “Three years’ investment is required, but as you can see, the profit margins in years four and five should be extremely healthy.”

I look at her in wonderment. Somehow this project has turned both Julie and Stanley into confident businesspeople. You’d think they’d been pitching ideas and running up financial statements all their lives.

Archie studies the sheets of paper for a few minutes.

“And your diffusion line—it’d be exclusive to this shop?” Archie asks Giovanni, who nods.

“And the name of the shop?”

Everyone looks at me. “Well, I was sort of thinking maybe Bess and Stanley,” I say hesitantly. “You know, like Graham & Green, or Farrow and Ball . . .”