The Dress (Everyday Magic Trilogy: Book 1) (21 page)

She put her hand to her throat and directed her icy blue eyes at David.

‘Well, I can see that you two boys are already hitting it off,’ she said. ‘The doctor and the inventor. How charming! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to play with your little toys.’

And she stalked off.  

‘Cheers,’ said David, raising his glass, ‘Now, tell me about this sprinkler system… ’

Mr Cushworth cleared his throat and jangled the loose change in his trousers. ‘Sorry about my wife,’ he said. ‘She doesn’t mean it. She’s always been a bit… well, fiery…
passionate,
you know…. So, erm, what exactly would you like to know?’

‘It’s starting,’ someone shouted in the hallway and people began to press into the  room around them, balancing on the arms of the sofas, even crouching on the floor.

Ella noticed that Pike had placed himself at Mrs Cushworth’s elbow, handing her another brimming flute of champagne. His hand strayed to the small of her back where her dress – the one that Mamma had sewn so skilfully with the new fabric from London – was cut daringly low. Pike, on the other hand, was wearing a very shiny grey suit, in a fabric that Mamma would have described as cheap. An anaemic red silk tie thrust itself from his button-down collar and every so often he smoothed at it nervously with those long white fingers. Ella could see that, despite the way that he was leanng against the  marble fireplace, his eyes fixed on Mrs Cushworth, he was uncomfortable.

His eyes flickered over hers briefly, scanning the room and then returning to her once again. Did she imagine the tip of his tongue darting over his thin dry lips as his eyes travelled up and down her body and then fixed her with a stare? Katrina was right. He really was a snake. There was something reptilian about him.

There was a general
shhhing
.

On the enormous TV screen, the Prince had just arrived at the Abbey. He was tugging at the tunic of his uniform.

‘Oh, bless his heart,‘ a woman in a purple kaftan slurred, tipsily. 

Mamma stood transfixed, alternately exclaiming and protesting at the procession of hats, handbags and dresses.

And then finally the Princess-to-be arrived. She stepped from the silver car and Ella heard Mamma let out a long slow gasp.

‘Alexander McQueen,’ she breathed, admiringly. ‘Oh, look at all the lace, the detail. It’s just perfect.’

Later, they watched as the couple emerged and climbed into the state coach.  

‘Marvellous,’ said Councillor Pike loudly, tugging at his tie as the camera zoomed in on the gold of the cherubs and the rich braid on the footmen’s uniforms.

The rain held off and sunlight glinted off the guardsmens’ plumed helmets, making little patches of intense white on the screen.

The sunlight flooded the room where people continued to linger, shifting their weight from one foot to another. It fell through the long conservatory windows.

Glasses were filled and chinked together. People began to speak at normal volume again.

They watched as the Queen and the Royal Family stood on the Palace balcony, waving at the people gathered in The Mall.

‘Every man, woman and child of Britain, her Commonwealth and Empire, must be rightfully proud, at this moment, of what we in Britain do best, of our rich heritage, our history…’
said the commentator.

‘And, of course, our
foreign
guests to these shores are most welcome in joining us in our celebrations,’ announced Councillor Pike.

Ella felt his gaze settle over her. He made a deep mock bow from his position on the other side of the room. She felt her face tingle as the other guests turned to look at them.

Mamma’s face tightened with anger. Ella watched as Mamma opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again. David stepped closer and squeezed her hand. 

‘Damned tricky business, that,’ someone said, nodding towards the screen where the cameras were focusing in on the Red Arrows, their formations gathering and scattering. ‘One false move and you’re done for.’

*

Ella would have liked to dance. She stood for a while, watching the other people, their bodies twisting and writhing, loosened by wine and laughter. She saw the way that some of the women kicked off their shoes, sighing with relief as they spread their pinched toes.

She thought of Billy, found herself wondering if he was dancing. Probably not. But whatever he was doing, he was probably having much more fun.

She checked her phone constantly, unsnapping the little clutch bag sewn all over with yellow satin petals.   

Finally, she wandered through rooms and corridors, looking for Katrina. She hadn’t seen her much since they’d arrived. And even Katrina would be better company than the potted palms, the older men who keep trying to catch her eye over the rims of their half-filled pint glasses.

She passed the inner hallway, the small space that Leonora used to hang up her coat and change into her pinafore and carpet slippers. Leonora wasn’t at the party, of course. Katrina had said that she was in an awful huff about being given the day off. She didn’t think it was right to find herself temporarily replaced by a team of hired caterers in stupid frilly outfits. She’d gone to her sister’s house. 

Now Ella heard a noise coming from the unlit vestibule. A giggle and a sound like scratching in the walls. She stopped in the corridor. The sound stopped. She walked again and the sound began again.

Suddenly, from out of the gloom, stepped Katrina, smoothing her pink dress over her hips, patting her hair into place.

‘There you are,’ she said, as if she’d been the one looking.

Ella allowed herself to be led away down the corridor. She let Katrina’s arm slip through hers. She half-closed her eyes and listened to Katrina’s chatter.

It was only as they turned into the drawing room again that she saw it for a moment. A dark shape at the edge of her vision, moving from the shadowy corner, crossing the corridor that they’d left behind. It was so quick that she might have imagined it. The creak of a polished shoe. A flash of striped shirt.

‘What?’ said Katrina, sticking out her chin. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Oh, nothing.’ Ella’s mouth moved easily, as if of its own accord. ‘I thought I saw something, that’s all.’

*

Fabbia swirled the champagne around her glass. She felt the warmth of it spreading through her arms and shoulders, flushing her cheeks.

Despite that awful man Pike and his little speech, she was enjoying herself. She’d always liked parties. And in fact, since Pike’s badly-judged words, several people had made a point of coming up to her, complimenting her on the success of her business, asking her how she was settling in. They seemed at pains to be genuinely welcoming and friendly, to cancel out any lingering air of unpleasantness, and she began to feel her shoulders relax, to enjoy the music and chatter as it swept through her in waves of gold and green. 

She was also enjoying, with a sense of satsfaction, watching several of her dresses move around the room. There was Ali Braithwaite in a simple dress of navy crepe, draped at the neck with a tulip skirt, and accessorised with one of Fabbia’s favourite finds – an enormous Trifari brooch of clustered flowers in crystal and gilt. And she’d risked the leopard print courts, too. They looked perfect.

‘Who’d have thought it?’ Ali had said, giggling in front of the mirror. ‘I’d never have dared try them on if you hadn’t suggested it. And I
love
them. But are you sure they’re not, well, a bit
tarty
?’

‘On the right person, worn in the right way, absolutely not,’ Fabbia had said. ‘The trick is to keep things simple.’ And Ali had followed her advice, the shoes and the brooch her only accessories, except for a tiny pair of diamond stud earrings. Ali glanced across at Fabbia now and smiled, raising her glass. She looked radiant.  

And then there was that nice young woman who worked in the Braithwaites’ shop. Fabbia could never remember her name. But here she was in such a lovely outfit, the 1950s dress in daffodil silk, with a prettily ruched sweetheart neckline and a lovely full skirt with six net petticoats. With a few alterations, it looked as if it had been made for her. And Fabbia had found her just the right handbag too – a basket bag of the same era, with a base of natural-coloured woven raffia, the lid covered in imitiation seed pearls and embellished with a cornucopia of fruit made of appliqued and beaded velvet. Strawberries, oranges, a bunch of grapes – it was such a fun piece. And she’d even worn the little white cotton gloves. Fabbia watched her now, flirting with one of David’s colleagues. Yes, she could really carry it off.

‘Mrs Moreno? My dear…’

Fabbia felt a firm hand on her shoulder and turned to see Audrey Cossington, Ella’s teacher, beaming at her.

‘Fabbia. Do call me, Fabbia. Please…’

Audrey nodded, tilting a bottle of champagne wrapped in a starched white napkin in the direction of Fabbia’s glass.

‘Thank you. But I have to be careful. It goes straight to my head…’

‘I’ll drink yours then, shall I?’ Audrey emptied the remains of the bottle into her own glass and placed the empty on a table. She made a little grimace. ’Quite a gathering, isn’t it? Jean certainly knows how to do these things. I usually find them a dreadful ordeal but I’ve been rather enjoying spotting your creations. You’ve been busy transforming the entire town…’

Fabbia felt her cheeks get even hotter. ‘I don’t think I can claim…’

‘
Certainly
you can, my dear. Like I said, a breath of fresh air. Just what we all needed.’ She looked down at her own dress. ‘Look at me, for example. You’ve got me in red.
Red
, for goodness’ sake. And I’ve had so many compliments.’

Fabbia smiled. ‘You look wonderful. Really, you do. I love your hair. And your shoes…’

Audrey extended a foot in front of her, turning it this way and that, admiring again the elegant gold kitten heels.

‘So, my dear, I just wanted to say that you mustn’t bother about
him.’
She gestured to where Pike was standing stiffly at Jean Cushworth’s elbow, fidgeting with the sleeve of his shiny grey suit jacket. ‘He’s not well liked, you know, despite what he’d have you believe. My betting is that he won’t get re-elected. Some of his policies…’ she gave a little shudder, ’well, they’re much too right-wing for this town. Goodness knows what Jean’s doing getting mixed-up with him.’ She looked Fabbia directly in the eye. ‘And I’ve said that to her face too, you know.’

Fabbia felt the tension return to her shoulders. She angled her body away from Jean Cushworth so that she wouldn’t guess that she was being discussed.

‘Oh, don’t mind me, dear. I don’t want to embarrass you. I just
desperately
wanted you to know…’ She laid a hand on Fabbia’s arm. ‘Well, I think you know what I’m trying to say… And Jean. Just look at her. She looks amazing too. A-mazing. I’m guessing the dress is one of yours?’

Fabbia nodded, grateful to find herself on safer ground. ‘I made it for her especially. Inspired by a dress I found in an old
Cinemascope
magazine…’

‘Well, she certainly looks the part.’ Audrey winked. ‘She must be very pleased…’

With his usual perfect sense of timing, David appeared at Fabbia’s side.

‘Mrs Cossington,’ he said, his eyes twinking mischievously, ‘May I just say that you’re looking positively ravishing?’

Audrey poked him playfully in the ribs. ‘Oh, go on, you old smoothie,’ she laughed. ‘And it’s all down to Fabbia, here. Well, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.’

And with that she turned, waving her champagne glass at them, a gold bangle glittering on her wrist.

‘Wonderful old bird,’ David said, grinning. ‘Speaks her mind. Tells things how they are. Always has done…’

*

The party continued. A marquee had been erected on the lawn and now it glimmered softly in the fading evening, lit from within by strings of lanterns.

The guests drifted over the lawn. From the conservatory, Ella watched them grouping and regrouping like filmy clouds of moths.

‘What’s the matter with you, then?’ said Katrina, ‘Missing Lover-Boy?’

Ella scowled and trailed after her over the wet lawn. The canvas marquee had begun to steam gently. It seemed as if it was floating a few inches above the grass.

She found Mamma and David at one of the circular tables flanked by gold-painted chairs and sat down next to them, fanning herself with a napkin.

Mother’s face was flushed. She gripped Ella’s hand in hers and turned it over, examining the shapes of her fingers.

‘Your father’s hands,’ she said. ‘You look so like him tonight,
tesora
.’

Ella pulled her hand away in annoyance. Mamma had drunk too much wine.

‘She’s certainly turning out to be a beauty,’ said David, beaming at her across the tablecloth. ‘That young man over there hasn’t been able to take his eyes off her all evening.’

He nodded towards the bar. A boy she’d seen before from the fifth-form at school who was obviously working for the catering company, stood dabbing at a glass with a limp teatowel. As Ella met his eyes, he looked away quickly.

‘Yes, I can see we’re going to have to keep a closer eye on her,’ David said, winking. ‘She’s going to be breaking hearts all over the place before too long. But,’ he said, lifting Mamma’s hand and kissing it, ‘I think she takes after her mother in that regard.’

Nice, kind-hearted, handsome David, his blue eyes shining, his neck tie loosened, his hair flopping over his forehead like a schoolboy’s.

Ella felt sulky, rude. She was sick of herself. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she be happy?

She looked down and straightened her place setting, lining up the knife with the fork, the spoon at perfect right-angles to the glass.

‘Can I have some wine, please?’ she asked and she watched them, full of the sense of occasion, humouring her, making a ceremony of splashing the rosé into her glass, following it with the plink of an ice cube from the bucket.