The Dress (40 page)

However, on the short drive from the Plaza, around Central Park and up Fifth Avenue Lily's nerves started to spill over into panic. She felt overwhelmed with the pressure of what people would think of her work, what they would think of a lowly blogger slash vintage clothes dealer setting herself up as a big-deal designer against Lucy Houston. What had she been
thinking
, taking this on? What had
Jack Scott
been thinking?

When the car pulled up and the door opened, Lily looked out at the paparazzi-lined red carpet sweeping up the steps of the Metropolitan Museum New York and she felt like throwing up. Suddenly, the reality of her situation hit her. Inside that building were around seven hundred of the world's fashion and style elite and they would be voting on her dress. Online, Lily could deal with anyone. Every fashion journalist and style-celebrity had been retweeting #TheDress and #WeLoveLily but now she had to face them all in the flesh. Twitter was one thing, but this was real life.

‘I can't get out of the car,' she said. ‘I can't do this.' She turned to Sally and pleaded, ‘It's too much. Honestly, you'll have to go in without me.'

Zac looked at Sally, worried, but she nodded across at him. ‘You and Honor go first,' she said.

Zac took Honor's arm and, with the doorman helping her out of the car, Honor and Zac walked into the fray like they were born to it.

‘I think I'm going to throw up...'

Lily looked genuinely pale and terrified. For a moment Sally baulked, then said, ‘I don't care. There'll be no mess because you haven't eaten a scrap all day so your stomach is empty...'

‘Oh God, Sally, suppose they don't like it. Suppose something goes wrong and—'

‘They will love it – they will love you.'

‘I don't want to look like some fake who just copied an old dress.'

‘Lily.' Sally turned to her friend and gave her a soft look. She could have told her how much she loved and respected her as a friend and a designer, but that would make Lily cry and ruin her make-up. So instead, Sally gave her friend a sharp poke in the arm and said, ‘Either you get your skinny arse out of this car in five seconds or I swear you'll go staggering up those steps with my stilettos up your behind!'

Lily knew by Sally's steely look that her friend meant business. She also knew she loved her and that if she didn't make this journey she would be letting down not just herself, but everyone else too. So Lily took a deep breath, swung one foot in front of the other and stepped out onto the red carpet. As soon as her heels hit the ground the photographers started shouting, ‘Over here!' ‘Look up!' struggling to call out to her without a name until one of them spread the word: ‘Lily Fitzpatrick, one of the designers!' Then calls of ‘Lily!' ‘Over here, Lily love!' filled the air. While Lily channelled her best Dita Von Teese smile, Sally waved madly at all of them, blowing air-kisses as they walked.

Further up the steps, the paparazzi would not let Honor go. Zac held the arm of his grandmother's friend as if she were a prize. Honor looked like royalty in the lemon chiffon Herrera gown and, with her short white hair set back into an elaborate blow-wave, was every inch the 1950s fashion doyenne.

The atmosphere inside was of elegant elitism. The champagne was good, the canapés small but plentiful. The air was heavy with fashionista small talk and the smell of expensive cosmetics. Every bare back and shoulder was buffed to perfection, and every almost-bare bosom meticulously supported and arranged. These seven hundred or so people comprised the fashion and style elite of America. Lily realized that she knew almost every face in the room. Hollywood A-listers, rock-stars, models and famous designers – no bloggers that she recognized. There was a lot of exquisite vintage. One quick scan revealed a fashion editor in Nina Ricci and a young actress who she could have sworn was wearing the little known Belgium designer, Maggy Rouff. A few brave souls wore outrageous costumes, but most of the men played it safe with Tom Ford. The crowd wandered around, pretending to look at the Costume Institute's exhibition while actually just looking at each other.

Lily, Zac and Sally were aware of Honor's frailty and managed to settle her into a corner chair which Zac had assertively demanded from a curator, and then they gathered around their charge in a protective little group.

‘This is weird,' Lily said to Sally, still somewhat paralyzed with fear.

‘Yes it is,' Sally agreed, ‘but you know what? I think this is actually the greatest night of my life and I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you so...' and she gave Lily the same sincere look she had given her in the limo except this time she meant it. ‘...thank you.'

Lily smiled and Sally was about to ask Honor if she wanted a drink when a production assistant, a young woman in black with an earpiece, rushed over and asked her in a firm voice, ‘Is Lily Fitzpatrick here?'

‘That's me,' Lily said.

‘Great, I've come to take you backstage to fit your model – the show starts in less than thirty minutes.'

Sally and Lily followed the production woman as she cut a path through the crowded lobby and, waving her security pass at various beefy men in uniform, she led them through a few empty gallery spaces until they reached the curtained, chaotic backstage area. Among the half-naked girls, powder puffs, rails of clothes, shouting designers, iron-steam and hairspray, the woman sought out the corner where Svetlana was standing next to The Dress.

Lily's hands were shaking with excitement as the beautiful model stepped into her precious gown. This was the moment she had been waiting for, seeing her work worn by a beautiful woman, making it come to life. Sally came and took over buttoning up the pearl buttons but when Lily stood back and looked at Svetlana she felt such a crushing sense of disappointment she wanted to cry. It was nothing she could put her finger on specifically. While The Dress fitted well enough for her to walk down a catwalk, Svetlana's tiny frame was not filling it fully. Her tiny breasts were barely touching the bodice and her delicate arms seemed as thin as pins, next to the substantial beading and embroidery. The young woman was beautiful, but the opulence of The Dress seemed to swallow her up. It was a garment so ravishing it was making Svetlana's delicate beauty disappear.

Lily had chosen a model that looked like Joy but Joy didn't exist anymore. Lily had created a dress that was real, but she had chosen her model based on a dream. The Dress needed a woman of substance to do it justice.

‘I'm sorry,' she said to Svetlana, ‘it looks awful, I can't let you go on.'

‘What?' said Sally. ‘She looks...' Then stepping back to look at it herself she added, ‘...fine.'

‘You'll have take it off Svetlana; it's just not right on you.'

Sally started to melt down. ‘No, leave it on. You can't do this Lily. We've got twenty minutes to showtime. There
is
no other model...'

Lily suddenly remembered something. She checked her phone to make a call but there was no signal.

‘Security blocks all phones,' the production woman told her.

Lily would have to do this in person.

‘Take the dress off, Sally... sorry, Svetlana.'

Snatching the security pass from the shocked production woman's neck, Lily began to run. Back out through the gallery spaces, pushing past the beefy bodyguards and into the gallery. The crowd was thinning out. Looking around she saw that the guests had been called in to dinner and were moving towards the atrium. Her fingers shaking with adrenaline Lily pushed her way to the front of the seating plan chart and finally found the number of the Scott's table.

The dining room was stunning, the glass roofed atrium had fairy lights swooping down in a delicate curtain, and the tables were covered in crisp white linens and flowers. Lily frantically searched for table twenty-three where she found the place-name, but not the person she was looking for.

Beside the name card was a fancy pen and an envelope printed with gold writing that said ‘Cast your vote for The Dress'. Lily grabbed it and wrote:
URGENT! Catwalk emergency! Come backstage as soon as you get this, Lily.
As she walked away her stomach tightened with nerves. What the hell had she just done?

Lily closed her eyes and took a deep breath, preparing to run back and beg Svetlana to stay, when someone tapped her on the shoulder and a honey-eyed American voice said, ‘Hey, girlfriend, shouldn't you be dressing your model?'

It was Sharon.

Lily let out a sob of relief, ‘Yes,' she said, ‘I should be.' Then she grabbed Sharon by the arm and said, ‘No time to explain, just put that drink down and run!'

It was such a rush dressing Sharon that Lily barely had time to step back and look at her properly before she and Sally were ushered by the security staff to take their seats for the show.

All Lily knew was that Sharon more than filled her dress. There was some serious breath holding while the buttons were being done up, and her bosom spilled gloriously over the top like some modern-day Nell Gwynn. Once they got her into it, Lily could see that Sharon had not just the body, but the attitude that The Dress needed to walk it down a catwalk. Big and bold, Sharon was more than a match for its ornate grandiosity. She would
wow
them, Lily was certain of it.

Honor and Zac were already settled at the table. Jack was standing at another table talking with Claudia, a stunning nineteen-year-old eastern European model he had been seen in the papers with the week before.

‘How predictable,' said Sally, sitting down next to Lily and nodding across at her. ‘At least she's not sitting with us. He
will
be mine yet!'

‘How can you even think about Jack's pants at a time like this?'

‘Because,' Sally said, tucking into her starter, ‘I haven't seen Jack's pants yet, therefore I am intrigued. Anyway, you'll be needing this...' She handed Lily a bread roll. ‘...to keep up your strength when you have to get up on that stage and collect your prize.'

Lily smiled, but inside she was shaking with fear again. Zac was sitting next to her and put his hand over hers on the table. She gripped his slim fingers and felt grateful to have this new person in her life, although his presence also reminded her of another man who should have been there, but wasn't.

*

Honor nearly jumped out of her skin when the bang-bang music started up. The Scott's table was near the front of a long catwalk running through the centre of the vast room. The shows today were so different from when Honor was designing. Back then the women would gather in the designer's studio and the models would simply walk past the seated women. Occasionally somebody might employ a pianist to play elegant background music, but more often than not there was no such distraction, it was just the clients and the clothes. Nowadays, Honor knew from her television shows, fashion was theatre. Sitting here, at the heart of this spectacle, Honor was not sure how she felt about that.

A floppy-haired American compere came out to announce the competition. His teeth were fluorescent under the lights, even whiter than that handsome Jack Scott who was flirting so earnestly with Sally. There was definitely something going on there. Lily was on her own, although Sally had confided in her earlier that there was a young man back in London that she was interested in. Honor smiled to herself at the realization that she was part of something again. Not simply involved with the competition and The Dress, but with the people who were making it happen.

The Dress had brought her back among people again although, in truth, Honor knew it had never been simply about The Dress. The friendship that had been born out of it had always been more important.

Joy would have loved tonight. She would have loved being at the heart of society, the theatre of the show, the spectacle of it all. Mostly, she would have loved Lily and her darling Zac. Yet Joy wasn't here – Honor was. She was the one Lily had found. She was the one who had survived to see their dress come to life again.

‘Two of the world's biggest fashion brands,' the compere announced, ‘backing two young English designers. Lucy Houston and Lily Fitzpatrick...' Honor noticed Sally give Lily's hand a squeeze – such a warm, easy friendship. ‘...fashion-fight it out for the title of Designer of the Most Beautiful Dress Ever Made. One uses the latest in high-tech fabrics and technology and the other draws its inspiration from the couture of the past. Which one will
you
choose?'

More modern bang-bang music started up as the PopShop dress appeared at the top of the catwalk. The model was painfully thin and wearing a sparsely cut dress that looked as if it was made from black liquid metal. It was cut to the navel and barely covered her breasts but comprised a long train that slithered along the ground after her like a live snake. It was an amazing garment but not terribly attractive. Then, Honor thought, women don't seem as bothered about looking elegant as they used to, although she didn't judge them for that. If she had continued designing, goodness knows what mad stuff she might have come up with.

As the ‘liquid' dress reached the end of the catwalk, Sharon came out on stage with the Scott's logo blazing behind her. The lights were so bright on the expanse of light fabric that Honor's eyes had to adjust before The Dress came into her view. It was now, with this Amazonian creature wearing it, that Honor could see Lily's dress was so much more than her original. It had not just the elegance and glamour of Joy's dress but substance and personality too. Where her original dress had been decorated with the romantic fantasies of little girls, Lily's train was embroidered with images of true love – marriage that had lasted a lifetime. This remarkable young woman had not, in fact, copied her dress but reinterpreted it in a unique way that only somebody who had a real passion for clothes and a genuine gift for design could have done. Honor had been a great designer but, she thought, Lily was better.