Little White Lies (27 page)

I blush slightly. “Just relatively speaking,” I explain. “Teaching, though . . . that’s kind of sexy.”

“You like the whole leather-arm-patches look, then?”

“Of course. They’re very Paul Smith,” I say seriously.

“I’ll be making a lot less money,” says Simon.

“But you’ll have more time for picnics in the park,” I point out.

“So no more lies?”

“No more lies,” I promise.

Simon grins. “Tell me,” he says, the glint now firmly back in his eye. “Does Natalie Raglan kiss as well as Cressida Langton did?”

A flood of relief washes over me. We’re okay, I think happily. We’re going to be okay.

“Well, I’m not sure,” I say thoughtfully. “I suppose the proof of that would be in the—”

“Eating?” Simon butts in, and leans down to kiss me.

“Kissing, actually,” I whisper as his lips meet mine.

“Eeeeeuuuggghhhhh!”
We look up quickly to see a gang of fourteen-year-olds coming through the door.

“Sir, that’s revolting!” a boy says loudly, and the others laugh raucously.

Simon deftly pulls away and peers at me as if he’s a doctor or something.

“I think that’s got it.”

“Sir, you were kissing that lady,” shrieks one of the children.

“No I wasn’t,” says Simon firmly. “She just had something in her eye, and I was checking that everything was okay. Now, kids, settle down quietly until your teacher gets here.”

“Let’s get out of here,” he whispers, winking at me.

“I thought we agreed no more lies and deception?” I say with a grin, poking him in the ribs as we head out of the classroom.

“I’ve obviously been spending too much time with you,” Simon says with a smile. “You must be a bad influence.”

“Not altogether bad . . .” I argue.

“You mean because you meant well?” Simon suggests.

“Exactly . . . I had the best of intentions all along,” I say, taking his hand as we reach the school gates, “. . . but sometimes it pays to give in to temptation . . .”

EPILOGUE

“You’re sure I look okay?” I ask Simon nervously, peering at myself in the mirror from every angle. I’m wearing my favorite dress—the Alberta Ferretti, the one he bought me. And even though I know it’s perfect, I can’t stop fretting.

“You look gorgeous.” Simon smiles reassuringly. “As does the shop. It’s going to be a great party.”

I walk over to the recently installed display unit against which Simon is leaning, and put my arms around his neck. “You really think so?”

“Just look around,” he says, grinning. “It looks amazing!”

I turn round and let my eyes wander around the shop, taking in the varnished floorboards, the immaculate rails full of gorgeous clothes, the till that gives an old-fashioned ring when it’s opened (disguising an expensive stock-management software package that Julie and Giovanni insisted on). Even the sign outside is perfect—old-fashioned tin in moss green with hot pink lettering. And as of tomorrow, the shop will be open for business.

“What time did your parents say they’d get here?” I ask anxiously.

“Eight o’clock. Same as everyone else. And, yes, there’s enough wine. And, no, we won’t run out of food.”

As he speaks Simon squeezes my hand, and I lean back against him. I don’t know what I’d have done without him in the last few months, listening to me as I talked for hours at a time about handbags, wall colors, and types of dressing-room curtains. I thought remodeling the shop would be the biggest job, but that was just the beginning. The sheer number of decisions Julie and I have had to make—from rail size to advertising to stock levels—has been terrifying. But now it’s all done. Now it’s ready to open. And in a few minutes, the opening party will begin.

“Look at you two—like starstruck lovers, you are!” I look up to see Julie walk through the door looking like Madonna in the “Justify My Love” and “Vogue” era. Lucy is right behind her, wearing a tightly fitting lemon-yellow dress and luminous green heels and looking unbelievably gorgeous.

“It just looks better each time I see it,” she says gleefully, wandering around the shop and helping herself to a glass of wine from the fifty or so glasses laid out on a table at the front.

“Want one?”

I nod. She brings over four glasses on a tray and sets it down in front of us. Julie picks one up and downs it in one.

“Never been so bloody nervous in my life,” she explains with a rueful smile. “Don’t know what’s wrong with me, honestly.”

“I like your thinking,” says Lucy, and necks her wine, too. My eyes meet Simon’s uncertainly, and he winks.

“I agree. A bit of Dutch courage is what’s called for here. So . . . down the hatch . . .”

His eyes twinkle as he gulps down his glass of wine; then he grins at me as Julie and Lucy close in. “Down in one, down in one,” they chant until eventually I concede and drink the entire glass in one go. Within a minute my cheeks are glowing and I feel slightly light-headed.

“Giovanni would be appalled,” I say with a smile. “It’s Italian wine, you know.”

“Appalled at what? What you doing with the wonderful Italian wine?”

We turn quickly to see Giovanni, who has just arrived with Archie and Tilly. Julie rushes over to him, and a few seconds later, Simon’s brother arrives with his wife, Sarah.

Within a few minutes, the shop is full of greetings, air kisses, and exclamations of “ooh” and “aah” as more and more people arrive and look around the shop.

I feel Simon squeeze my waist before he disappears into the throng, leaving me to meet and greet at the door.

“My God, this is fabulous!”

“More fucking fabulous than Joseph! Honestly, I’m jealous.”

Alistair and Michael have arrived, and they head straight for the wine, returning briefly to kiss me dramatically on the cheek. “Now, where’s Julie? I hear she’s gone dominatrix and I’m very excited,” Alistair says to no one in particular as he beadily surveys the room. I point him in the right direction and turn back just in time to see my parents arrive. Right behind them are Richard the would-be-model and Marie, Lucy’s film student friend.

“Mum! Dad! Over here!” I shout, waving my arms excitedly and ignoring Richard’s look of disdain. Dad looks nervous—he’s wearing a smart jacket and tie and is looking at Julie with alarm. I suppose he doesn’t get to see people wearing dog collars and fishnets all that often. Mum, on the other hand, looks amazing. She’s got her hair up in a chignon, and is wearing a beautiful black shift dress and a gold scarf tied loosely around her neck. She looks around the room excitedly, and I rush over to give her a hug.

“You look wonderful,” I tell her, and she smiles brightly.

“Well, you don’t come up to a shop opening in Notting Hill every day of the week, now, do you?” she says matter-of-factly, obviously trying to play down her excitement. “Now, is that Italian designer you were telling me about here yet? And I want you to introduce me to Simon’s parents, too. But first the designer. And where are the drinks? Is there just wine, or are we having cocktails . . . ?”

Dad gives me a little smile. “Don’t mind your mother,” he whispers. “She’s been looking forward to this party for weeks. I’m afraid she’s planning to fit the whole of London living into one night. She actually said she wants to go clubbing when the party’s over.”

“Seriously?” I ask incredulously, but Dad just shrugs.

“She’s so proud, you know,” he says softly. “We both are. We just couldn’t be happier for you. And this shop is . . . well, it’s . . .” He looks around, desperately trying to think of the right words—fashion is not something he really understands, and the weird and wonderful clothes on display are obviously a little much for him. “Great,” he eventually settles on. “Absolutely great.”

I grin and give him another hug. Mum has already wandered off and is talking animatedly to Alistair, who is cooing over her dress. Dad rolls his eyes and winks at me.

“Ah, here you are!”

I turn round to see Stanley standing next to me.

“Stanley! I was wondering where you were. Get yourself a drink quickly,” I say happily. “You haven’t met my father, have you?”

Dad looks incredibly relieved to be introduced to someone who isn’t wearing a feather boa or leather, and shakes Stanley’s hand firmly.

“Great honor to meet you,” he says. “Natalie’s told us all about you. Wonderful thing you’re doing here, you know.”

Stanley’s eyes are shining. “Oh, I’ve barely done a thing,” he says, smiling proudly. “But you’re right, it is wonderful. I just wish my wife could be here to see it.”

“Me, too,” I say softly, and touch Stanley’s arm. He smiles at me, then shakes himself slightly and turns to Dad. “Better leave Natalie to it, don’t you think? So you live in Bath,” he says jovially, taking his arm and leading him toward the wine. “Lovely place, that . . .”

I scan the room for Simon and see him talking to Giovanni. Although “being talked to” would probably be nearer the mark. Giovanni is throwing his hands about, and Simon is nodding seriously. He catches my eyes and gives me a little smile as if to say, “I have no idea what this guy is talking about,” and I giggle slightly. I love the fact that Simon is clueless about fashion, is the antithesis of cool. And everyone else seems to love it, too. When he met Alistair for the first time, they got on brilliantly—I almost felt ashamed for thinking they’d have nothing to say to each other.

“Hi there, stranger!” I jump as Chloe hurls her arms round me and disturbs my reverie.

“Chloe! You’re here!” I give her a bear hug and take her hand excitedly. “What do you think? Tell me the truth, won’t you? Do you like it?”

Chloe looks around in wonderment. “Nat, this is just incredible. Your own shop. You’ve really done it. And of course I like it. God, it’s amazing!”

She takes my arm and walks around the small shop, squeezing past people to get a better view of the display.

“Oh, my God, those bags,” she breathes. “You’re right—they are just gorgeous.”

“Aren’t they just,” Michael says, joining us and giving Chloe a kiss. “And wait till you see the shoes. Alistair, look who’s here!”

“You’re still okay for later?” I ask quickly before she’s whisked off, and she nods. “Does the Pope wear a silly hat? Of course I am!” She gives me a quick elated smile as Michael leads her off to the shoe section.

I make a beeline for Giovanni, whom I haven’t managed to say hello to properly yet, but I’m distracted by a voice I recognize but can’t place. It sounds like . . . but, no, it couldn’t be . . . could it?

“Seriously,” I hear someone say in a deep West Country voice. “I thought you’d be a model, not just a shop assistant.”

It is. It’s Pete. And he’s chatting up Lucy, who has a bemused expression on her face.

“Right,” she says uncertainly. “Well, anyway, better um . . . mingle . . .”

“What are you doing here?” I ask incredulously as Lucy gives me a little smile and nips off in the direction of Alistair, Michael, and Chloe.

“Nice to see you, too,” he says, looking a bit pissed off, then shrugs. “Wasn’t doing anything else and Chloe said she’d give me a lift if I wanted.”

I look round the room and catch Chloe’s eye. She looks at me, looks at Pete, and gives me a sheepish smile.

“Anyway, you dumped me on the phone,” Pete continues. “I thought only blokes did that sort of thing.”

“Sorry, Pete. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I say seriously. “I just realized that my life was in London.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says easily. “Got a great sympathy shag out of Rebecca and another one out of her friend Sally as it goes, so it all worked out pretty well. But I see what you mean about London. I’ve never seen so many hot women in my life. Think I might move down here myself.”

I look at him uncertainly. “Really?”

“Don’t see why not. Can’t be too difficult if you managed it, eh?” At this, Pete’s face creases into a smile and he starts to laugh. I smile tightly.

“Cor, she’s a bit of all right, isn’t she?” he says after he’s finished guffawing. I follow his eye line to the door and then freeze. There, not quite inside the shop, is Laura. Laura the wicked witch of Notting Hill. She’s dressed in black, as always, with blood red lipstick and she looks more tired than usual.

Julie’s seen her, too, and is making her way toward her.

“Can we help you?” she asks pointedly.

“I wanted to see Natalie,” Laura says icily.

“Well, here I am,” I say quickly, moving forward. “Come to try and ruin the party, have you? Because you won’t succeed.”

Laura looks at me carefully. “I haven’t come to ruin your party, no. I came to tell you something.”

“Well, go on, then,” says Julie impatiently.

Laura shoots her a look, then turns back to me.

“The dress,” she says after a while, each word sounding painful for her to speak. “I went through the inventory, and it seems that the dress . . . it seems that I was . . . that you didn’t . . .”

“That I didn’t what?”

“That . . . the dress was yours, after all.”

My eyes narrow. Is Laura actually trying, however badly, to apologize, to admit that she was wrong?

“Yes, it was mine,” I say simply.

“Well, that’s all, really. I’m sorry, Natalie. Sorry that you and I . . . that things were so difficult.”

I pause. This is unexpected, and I’m not sure how to react. Laura is acting almost human, and it’s quite unsettling.

“I guess it’s water under the bridge now,” I say uncertainly.

“Ah, Giovanni,” Laura says with a tight-lipped smile as he appears at my side. “I thought you might be here. Well, good luck to you all.”

She turns to go, but I find myself wanting to call her back. Okay, so she’s been a complete bitch, but she did at least give me a job. And we did all walk out on her—Michael told us that for two weeks after we left, she was working on her own every single day. She’s only just managed to recruit more staff. Perhaps she’s been punished enough.

“Laura . . .” I say hesitantly, “you could stay for a drink. If you wanted.”

Julie looks at me strangely, then shrugs at Laura. “Why the hell not? We’ve drunk enough of your wine over the years.”

Laura hesitates; then her mouth moves into what I think might be a smile, but I’m not entirely sure. “Maybe just one,” she says softly, and then almost inaudibly, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I say loudly with a smile, and point her toward the wine.

“That was very—uh—noble, yes? I think so,” says Giovanni happily. “Ees better to be on friendly term, you know?”

“I know,” I say. “Although I don’t want to get too friendly, thank you very much. So, are you having a good time?”

Giovanni grins. “The best time. I meet many nice peoples. And your mother. Oouf! What a lady!”

He rolls his eyes at me, and I laugh. “Don’t let Dad hear you,” I say with a grin. “But please feel free to flirt outrageously with her. She’ll absolutely love it.”

Giovanni winks and disappears. I look around the room—at Chloe, laughing with Michael; Lucy play-fighting with Alistair; Stanley and my dad talking earnestly about something or other; Simon talking to Jason, who has managed to take the night off from Canvas; Julie and Archie deep in conversation; my mother throwing back her head and laughing at something Giovanni has just said; and Pete moving in on Laura. “You ever seen
The Graduate
?” I hear him ask. “Only I always wondered what it would be like. You know, shagging an older woman . . .”

“Enjoying yourself?” Simon murmurs into my neck.

“Mmmmm,” I say with a smile. “You know, it’s a shame Cressida couldn’t come. I’d sort of like to thank her.”

“Why thank Cressida?” he asks curiously. “She’s got nothing to do with any of this.”

“Of course she has,” I say quickly. “Her letter led me to you, and if I hadn’t met you, I wouldn’t have met Stanley, or your dad.”

“Then you should be thanking Leonora for writing the letter, not Cressida,” says Simon lightly, then looks serious. “Nat, you shouldn’t be thanking either of them, really. Whatever they did or didn’t do was incidental. You brought all these people together. You befriended Stanley, won over my dad, inspired Giovanni. And, of course, made me fall hopelessly in love with you.”