A Vintage Affair: A page-turning romance full of mystery and secrets from the bestselling author. Isabel Wolff
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gown for one of her clients. For a moment I imagined Cate Blanchett wearing it to the Oscars – she’d do it justice. But I didn’t want to sell it, I told myself as I headed downstairs to the cashier. It was sublimely beautiful and I had battled to get it.
As I queued to pay I nervously wondered whether my Mastercard would combust on contact with the machine. I calculated that there was just enough credit on it to make the transaction possible.
As I waited my turn I looked up and saw Mr Pin-Stripe coming down the stairs, his phone pressed to his ear.
‘No, I didn’t,’ I heard him say. He had a very pleasant voice, I noticed, with a slight huskiness to it. ‘I just didn’t,’ he repeated wearily. ‘I’m sorry about that, darling.’ Trophy Wife – or possibly Mistress – was clearly furious with him for not getting the Madame Grès. ‘Bidding was intense,’ I heard him explain. He glanced at me. ‘I had stiff competition.’ At that, to my astonishment, he threw me a wink. ‘Yes, I know it’s disappointing, but there’ll be lots of other lovely dresses, sweetie.’ He was obviously getting it right in the neck. ‘But I did get the Prada bag that you liked. Yes, of course, darling. Look, I have to go and pay now. I’ll call you later, okay?’
He snapped shut his phone with a slightly conspicuous air of relief then came and stood behind me. I pretended not to know he was there.
‘Congratulations,’ I heard him say.
I turned around. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘Congratulations,’ he repeated. ‘You’ve got the lot,’ he added jovially. ‘The wonderful white dress by … who was it again?’ He opened the catalogue. ‘Madame Grès – whoever she was.’ I was outraged. He didn’t even know what it was that he’d been bidding for. ‘You must be pleased,’ he added.
‘Yes.’ I resisted the temptation to tell him that I was far from pleased with the price.
He tucked the catalogue under his arm. ‘To be honest, I could have gone on bidding.’
I stared at him. ‘Really?’
‘But then I looked at your face, and when I saw how intensely you seemed to want it, I decided to let you have it.’
‘Oh.’ I nodded politely. Was the wretch expecting me to thank him? If he’d quit the race earlier, he’d have saved me two grand.
‘Are you going to wear it to some special occasion?’ he asked.
‘No,’ I replied frigidly. ‘I just … adore Madame Grès. I collect her gowns.’
‘Then I’m delighted that you got this one – anyway.’ He adjusted the knot of his Hermès silk tie. ‘That’s me done for the day.’ He glanced at his watch and I caught a glint of antique Rolex. ‘Will you be bidding for anything else?’
‘Good God, no – I’ve blown the budget.’
‘Oh dear – so it was a case of hammer horror, was it?’
‘It was rather.’
‘Well … I guess that’s my fault.’ He gave me an apologetic smile and I noticed that his eyes were large and deep brown with hooded lids that gave him a slightly sleepy expression.
‘Of course it’s not your fault.’ I shrugged. ‘That’s how auctions work.’ As I knew only too well.
‘Yes please, madam?’ I heard the cashier say.
I turned round and handed her my credit card. As I did so I asked her to make out the invoice to Village Vintage, then I sat on the blue leather bench and waited for my lots to be brought out.
Mr Pin-Stripe completed his payment then came and sat next to me while he waited for his purchases. As we sat there, side by side, not talking now because he was reading his BlackBerry – with a slightly intense air I couldn’t help noticing – I found myself wondering how old he was. I stole a glance at his profile. His face was quite lined. Whatever his age, he was attractive with his iron filings hair and aquiline nose. He was forty-three-ish, I decided as a porter handed us our respective carrier bags. I felt a thrill of ownership as my bag was handed to me. I quickly checked the contents then gave Mr Pin-Stripe a valedictory smile.
He stood up. ‘Do you know …?’ he glanced at his watch ‘… all that bidding has made me hungry. I’m going to pop into the café over the road. I don’t suppose you’d feel like joining me, would you? Having bid so vigorously against you, the least I can do is to buy you a sandwich.’ He extended his hand. ‘My name’s Miles, by the way. Miles Archant.’
‘Oh. I’m Phoebe. Swift. Hi,’ I added impotently as I shook his hand.
‘So?’ He was looking at me enquiringly. ‘Can I interest you in an early lunch?’
I was amazed at the man’s audacity. He a) didn’t know me from Eve and b) clearly had a wife or girlfriend – a fact he knew that I knew because I’d overheard him on his mobile.
‘Or just a cup of coffee?’
‘No, thank you,’ I said calmly. I presumed he made a habit of picking up women in auction houses. ‘I have to … get back now.’
‘To … work?’ he enquired pleasantly.
‘Yes.’ I didn’t have to say where.
‘Well, enjoy the dress. You’ll look stunning in it,’ he added as I turned to leave.
Unsure whether to be indignant or delighted I gave him an uncertain smile. ‘Thanks.’
On my return I showed Annie the two dresses. I told her that I’d had to fight for the Madame Grès, though I didn’t go into details about Mr Pin-Stripe.
‘I wouldn’t worry about the cost,’ she said as she gazed at the gown. ‘Something as magnificent as this should transcend such … petty considerations.’
‘If only,’ I said wistfully. ‘I still can’t believe how much I spent.’
‘Couldn’t you say it’s part of your pension?’ Annie suggested as she re-stitched the hem of a Georges Rech skirt. She shifted on her stool. ‘Perhaps the Inland Revenue would knock the cost of it off your tax bill.’
‘I doubt it as I’m not selling it, although I rather like the idea of a pension-à-porter. Oh,’ I added. ‘You’ve put those up there.’ While I’d been out, Annie had hung some hand-embroidered evening bags on a bare patch of wall by the door.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I thought they’d look good there.’
‘They do. You can see the detail on them so much better.’ I zipped the two dresses I’d bought into new protective covers. ‘I’d better put these in the stockroom.’
‘Can I ask you something?’ Annie said as I turned to go upstairs.
I looked at her. ‘Yes?’
‘You collect Madame Grès?’
‘That’s right.’
‘But you have a lovely gown by Madame Grès right here.’ She went over to the evening rail and pulled out the dress that Guy had given me. ‘Someone tried it on this morning and I saw the label. The woman was too short for it – but it would look great on you. Don’t you want it for your own collection?’
I shook my head. ‘I’m … not mad about that particular gown.’
‘Oh.’ Annie looked at it. ‘I see. But –’
To my relief the bell above the door began to tinkle. A couple in their late twenties had walked in. I asked Annie to look after them while I went up to the stockroom. Then I nipped back down to the