True Colours (6 page)

‘What kind of research?’

‘Give me a day off on Monday and I’ll go round all the dress hire places. I’ll get them from the Yellow Pages, up
and
down- market places. I could see what they charge and do a bit of snooping.’ She grinned. ‘Who knows? We might even be able to offer a slightly cheaper rate….’

‘Undercut? That’s a bit of a cheek.’

‘But not illegal.’ Katie shrugged. ‘Well, it’s just a thought.’

‘Katie, you’re a treasure,’ Imogene said with a grin. ‘A devious treasure but a treasure nonetheless. OK, Monday is all yours. Go and do your darndest.’

The following Monday Katie hit the ground running. On Sunday she’d contacted her landlord about the ground floor flat, asking what the rent would be and securing his promise of first refusal when it became vacant. Then, with the aid of the Yellow Pages she made a list of as many dress-hire shops as she thought she could manage in one day and another list of all the important details she needed to find out.

Being naturally friendly and easy to talk to she had no trouble in engaging the assistants in conversation, no trouble either in creating a plausible reason for her seeking out the hire establishments.

At lunchtime she found a small park where she sat and ate her packed lunch and made notes. She’d discovered that the cost of hiring an outfit with a good designer label was quite high and there was also a deposit to make as insurance against damage or loss, repayable on return – something she hadn’t thought of. All garments were dry cleaned after every hiring, but she learned from one of the chattier assistants that they had an arrangement with a local dry cleaning firm who gave them special rates. She had a good look through the stock in each of the shops she visited and felt sure that Fantaisie could offer something more exclusive and, as she pointed out to Imogene later, with her able to do any repairs and minor alterations, they’d save money all round. (Nothing like making yourself indispensable, she told herself.)

Imogene was delighted and announced that she had been to the bank in her lunch hour to make a tentative enquiry and told to
make an appointment to return with a business plan and financial projection the following day when her loan would be given consideration.

‘So can you stay behind with me this evening and help me work out some kind of business plan?’ she said. ‘I’ll treat you to dinner afterwards in lieu of overtime.’

Katie was stunned. Never in a million years would she have imagined Imogene putting so much faith in her. ‘OK, if you like,’ she said nonchalantly. ‘I’m not doing anything else.’

‘And I think you’d better come to the bank with me tomorrow as well,’ Imogene added. ‘You’re so much better at talking than me. You’ve got the gift of the gab whereas I’m only articulate when I’ve got a few drinks inside me as you know.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘And somehow I don’t think that’d go down too well, do you?’

‘I think you’re probably right,’ Katie agreed.

They sat in the office after closing time working on the business plan. When it came to the financial projection Katie found that although she had failed her maths GCSE she was actually better at it than Imogene. Finally they had worked out something that was to Imogene’s satisfaction. Before she began printing it out ready for the bank Katie decided to voice the idea that had been nagging at her all day.

‘Imogene. Before you start there’s just one thing.’

‘What? Have I forgotten something?’

Katie cleared her throat. Her heart was thumping and her mouth was dry. What she was about to say might well ruin the whole thing. ‘It’s just, won’t the advisor at the bank wonder why I’m there too.’

‘I’ll explain that you’re my assistant.’ Imogene shook her head exasperatedly. ‘All right, I’ll say it was all your idea if you like. Will that do?’

Katie took a deep breath. ‘I’d rather you said I was a partner.’

Imogene stared at her. ‘
Partner
? You’ve got to be joking!’

It was the reaction Katie had expected and she stuck to her guns. ‘No, I’m not. After all it
was
my idea. I could have started a hiring agency up on my own without saying anything to you. I’m having to take on a bigger flat and work longer hours and you said yourself
you couldn’t afford to pay me much more. There has to be more in it for me than that.’

Imogene sat back in her chair and looked at Katie for a century-long minute. After a moment she said. ‘OK, you’ve got a point. So, how much cash were you planning to put into the venture, Katie?’

‘Cash?’ Katie’s jaw dropped. ‘I wasn’t. I mean – I haven’t got any.’

‘Then how do you think you could have started up a business on your own?’ Katie shook her head and Imogene went on, ‘That’s what being a partner means: equal ownership. Surely you can see that if I’m going to share the profits with you, you have to share in the initial outlay. That’s fair, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, but my contribution to the partnership would be the idea.’

Imogene laughed. ‘
Oh
! You see yourself as the brains of the business, do you?’

Katie thrust her chin out. ‘If you want to call it that – yes!’

Imogene’s smile faded and for a moment she sat back in her chair, a thoughtful expression on her face. Katie held her breath until finally Imogene looked up.

‘I appreciate your candour, Katie, and yes, I agree that your idea might well save my business, so how about this: I make you a partner in the hire business. Not Fantaisie. My ex’s name is still on the lease of the shop and it could get complicated. But the hire business is something new. We could keep it completely separate. How about this: we give it – this partnership idea – a trial for six months, dividing the profits say – eighty/twenty until we have a proper contract drawn up legally. What do you think?’

‘Seventy/thirty,’ Katie countered. ‘With a view to increasing it to sixty/forty once it’s legally binding.’

Imogene gasped. ‘I’m beginning to think I’ve underestimated you, Katie. You’ve got the bloody cheek of the devil! Look, shall we agree on seventy/thirty for now and see how things go? After all, we haven’t got the loan yet.’

Katie held out her hand. ‘OK, done,’ she said.

When Thursday morning arrived Katie was looking forward to seeing her old friends for lunch and bubbling over to tell them her news. She’d had a call from Fran on her mobile when she was on
the bus on her way home on Wednesday evening to tell her what she had arranged.

‘I want something suitable to wear for Harry’s new school’s open day next week,’ she said. ‘I can’t find anything I like locally so I’m hoping to find it at your boutique.’

‘I’m sure we’ll find something to suit you,’ Katie said. ‘What time are you coming?’

‘You said it’s your half day, so I’ll come close to lunchtime,’ Fran said. ‘I’ve booked a table for three at a nice little Italian restaurant I know and arranged to meet Sophie there at half past one.’

Katie sailed through the morning on cloud nine. The meeting at the bank had gone well. The financial advisor had shaken his head when he saw the last six month’s figures for the boutique but he seemed impressed with Katie’s idea of a dress hire business and after studying the projected figures he thought it might have a good chance of saving the current business. Imogene had pointed out that they planned to rent a small outlet shop in the future in which to dispose of exhausted stock second hand and the advisor had nodded his head approvingly. Finally, after some consideration and a brief consultation with a more senior colleague, a loan had been agreed. Imogene had taken Katie out for dinner that evening to celebrate.

Fran arrived soon after midday and Katie was gratified to see that Imogene approved of her appearance and style. The outfit she wore was clearly of the quality Imogene favoured and she summed up her taste quickly which was what she was so good at.

In her turn Fran was impressed by the boutique’s wide choice and was soon being ushered into one of the changing rooms with three outfits. Katie went with her but she had already guessed which one would suit her best. She was right. When Fran emerged from the changing room in the silver grey dress with its smooth, figure-hugging lines, Imogene beamed.

‘That looks so elegant,’ she enthused. ‘Not many of my customers could wear something so plain,’ she said. ‘But then not many have your figure. On you it looks perfect. I’d suggest no jewellery except perhaps some rather special earrings. Now, what about accessories?’ She looked at Fran, her head on one side. ‘I think either cerise or kingfisher blue.’ She looked at Katie. ‘We’ve got just the thing, haven’t we, Katie?’

Fran tried both and chose the blue accessories, which looked fabulous with her colouring: a stylish wide brimmed hat, matching sandals and a clutch bag. By the time she had paid for her purchases it was almost lunchtime. Imogene looked at Katie as she packed the outfit into one of the distinctive black patent carriers.

‘You might as well go too, as you’re having lunch with your friends,’ she said.

Sophie was waiting for them at Napolitano, the Italian restaurant where Fran had booked. She looked a little flushed and explained that she’d almost missed her train because her car had a flat tyre.

‘Don’t these things always happen at the wrong time?’ Fran said as the waiter ushered them to their table.

‘That’s one of the reasons why I haven’t bought a car,’ Katie put in as they sat down. ‘Though with the way things are developing I might have to rethink that.’ To her annoyance a waiter reappeared at that moment and handed each of them a menu, asking if they’d like to order drinks at the same time. Fran looked at the other two.

‘Shall we have a bottle of wine?’

They agreed and the waiter departed.

They consulted the menu and agreed on their choice of food. Sophie looked at Katie. ‘What were you saying just now – something about recent developments?’

Katie smiled. ‘Yes. Imogene – she’s my boss – has invited me to be a partner in the business.’

‘Really? Well done you.’ Sophie and Fran exchanged wry glances but before Katie could continue the waiter reappeared to take their order. Katie bit her lip in frustration. Their bottle of wine arrived at the same time, was duly uncorked, approved by Fran and a glass filled for each of them.

Fran raised her glass. ‘To us,’ she said. ‘Long may we flourish.’ She looked at Sophie. ‘How are things with you? Is the house restoration going well?’

‘Oh yes,’ Sophie said. ‘Rex is an absolute whiz at all the DIY stuff. Every time I come home I see a difference. And now that the holidays are here I’m helping as much as I can.’

‘With moral support and lots of delicious meals, I expect,’ Fran said.

‘Of course.’ Sophie surreptitiously hid her roughened hands and broken nails under the table’s pristine white cloth. ‘Have to keep his strength up.’

Fran took another sip of her wine and looked at Katie. ‘What was that you said about a partnership?’

Katie cleared her throat.
At last
! ‘Well, I suggested to Imogene, the owner of Fantaisie, that we open a hiring service. She thought it was a fantastic idea and she straight away….’ Once again the waiter arrived with three steaming plates of lasagne. Katie longed to pick up her plate and empty it over his head. When he had once again withdrawn Sophie looked across the table at Katie.

‘So, what about your designing work?’

‘Oh, I’ll still do that,’ Katie told her, picking up her fork. ‘We’re going to open another shop eventually in East London and I’ll be in charge. It’s all so exciting.’

‘It must be. Congratulations.’ Fran and Sophie smiled at her and each other indulgently.

‘I’m dying to see your new outfit, Fran,’ Sophie said.

‘She looks lovely in it,’ Katie put in. ‘It’s to wear at your son’s open day at school, is it?’

Fran nodded, lowering her eyes. Every time she thought about it tears threatened, a sight which irritated Charles intensely. She swallowed hard and looked up with a smile. ‘He’s looking forward to it so much,’ she said. ‘Charles and I will miss him so much but it’s what’s best for him after all so we can’t be selfish,’ she said, echoing Charles’s words. ‘And of course a whole new world will open up for me.’ Again, Charles’s words.

‘You’ll go back to work?’ Sophie asked.

‘I hope to,’ Fran said. ‘Being part of Charles’s business will be so fulfilling.’

After lunch the three went to a film and afterwards Fran insisted on treating them all to afternoon tea at the Ritz.

They parted company, the three of them agreeing on a date for their next meeting and went their separate ways. On the bus on her way home Katie reflected on the day. Clearly her friends hadn’t believed her when she’d told them her news. Why did they think she was still that pathetic, fantasizing schoolgirl from the past? She’d told the truth – well, almost. She had to admit that she’d
made it sound just a little bit better than it actually was. She sighed. Maybe one day what was in her head and what came out of her mouth would coincide!

Driving home from the station I couldn’t help feeling depressed. It had been a lovely day and I really enjoyed seeing Katie and Fran again but for some reason being with them had made me feel sad. It wasn’t their fault of course. They’d been great company, each with their stories of what life held for them in the future. No doubt Katie’s bit of news about the partnership was exaggerated but nevertheless, life definitely seemed to be on the up for her. As for Fran – well, she had it made, hadn’t she, with her wealthy husband and adored son? They both seemed so fulfilled and happy with life that I’d felt obliged to put on a brave face about my present situation.

It wasn’t just that either. They both looked so fantastic. Fran was so
soigné
and well groomed. Even tear-away Katie had looked sophisticated today in the little black dress she had to wear for work, her wild red hair tamed into a neat French pleat.

After lunch, in the Ladies, I took a long hard look at myself in the mirror and decided that the time had definitely arrived when I must change my style. I looked long and hard at the reflection staring back at me and all at once I saw how ludicrous I looked – a thirty-something woman still dressing like an art student. I took in the maxi-skirt decorated with mirror embroidery, the gypsy top and sandals – all of which had seen better, not to say
younger
days. This morning I’d briefly considered making a trip to Fantaisie myself until Fran told me how much she had paid for her chic new outfit. I felt my jaw drop and tried hard not to gape in horror when she
casually named the price. The kind of money I’d had to spare for clothes since Rex and I took on the restoration of Greenings wouldn’t buy an outfit from a jumble sale let alone designer clothes.

Contrary to the scene I’d painted for the girls, Rex wasn’t working on the house at all these days. True, he’d had a lot of commissions and, as he’d pointed out, that was where the bread and butter came from. (Rex is old fashioned about being ‘kept’ by a woman, even when that woman is his wife.) He’s started spending several days a week away from the house, taking the early train up to London in the mornings and returning sometimes quite late at night. He says he needs to keep in closer touch with his agent and calls it ‘keeping a finger on the pulse’, says it’s important to meet up with other freelancers and find out what they are doing. Of course I can see his point but his attitude isn’t likely to get the house in order any time soon.

Since school broke up for the summer holidays all my time has been spent in old jeans and baggy tee-shirts; sandpaper, or a paint brush in my hand. My hair badly needs cutting and my hands are a disgrace. Commissions for the portrait work have fallen off too, no doubt due to the recession. I’ve only had two since May and although I still love the house dearly there are days when I wish we’d never set eyes on it. Bit by bit it’s slowly taking over my life and undermining everything including our marriage. There’s no time for leisure any more, no time for fun, no time to spend together – at least, not in the way we used to. When we are together nowadays we’re always arguing, usually about money. Clearly we can’t put the house back on the market until the restoration is finished and at the rate we’re going that day grows more distant with every week. It’s a ‘catch twenty-two’ situation.

As I turned the car in through the gates I wondered whether Rex would be at home. However, as I swung round the curve in the drive I saw that a large blue van was parked outside the house. My first thought was that we were being burgled. No doubt they had watched us both leave the house and then broken in to steal the new bathroom equipment, still waiting to be plumbed in. I stopped the car in the drive and got out, reaching into my bag for my mobile. At least I could block their way out.

Phone in hand I gingerly approached the front door, which stood
open. I could hear men’s voices coming from upstairs. Hastily I punched in 999 and asked for the police. After a moment a voice answered.

‘Police.’

‘I want to report a burglary.’

‘Can you give me your name and address, madam?’

At that moment a man in overalls appeared on the stairs. When he saw me he smiled and called out, ‘Hello there! Mrs Turner, is it?’

I nodded, speechlessly. ‘Who – who are you?’

‘Bob Harris from Harris and Jarrold, builders. Your husband said you’d be surprised when you got home.’ He ran down the stairs and began to cross the hall, rubbing his hand on the seat of his overalls before he held it out to me. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

I could hear the voice at the other end of the line repeatedly asking for my name. I raised the phone to my mouth again. ‘I’m so sorry to have troubled you. It’s a misunderstanding.’ I switched off the phone and stared at the man.

‘I thought we’d got burglars.’

He laughed. ‘I warned your old m— er, your hubby that some ladies don’t like surprises.’

‘But – I don’t understand. You say my husband engaged you?’

‘That’s right.’

‘And you’re here to do – what?’

He held out his hands. ‘You name it. And believe me there’s no shortage of jobs.’ He began to count off the tasks on his fingers. ‘Plumbing in the bathroom and the en-suite shower; tiling them both,
and
the kitchen, not to mention fitting the rest of them kitchen units. I could go on as I’m sure you know.’ He smiled sympathetically at me. ‘How you’ve managed with the place in this state all this time beats me. I reckon that old bathroom must’ve been put in by Adam and ’is mate!’ He laughed loudly at his own joke. ‘If you ask me, you deserve a medal.’

‘Thank you,’ I said weakly.

‘We’ve cleared out all the old stuff. It’s in the van.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Er, I know you’ve only just got in, Mrs T, but we’d really appreciate a cuppa.’

I looked at my watch. ‘Isn’t it time you were knocking off?’

‘Normally it would be, yes, but your hubby wanted us to make a
good start today so I said we’d do a couple of hours overtime.’

‘I see. Give me a minute to put the car away and I’ll put the kettle on.’

Driving the car round to the garage, I fumed. Where did Rex think the money was coming from to pay these builders? And how dare he go out and leave me to walk in on it without a word of warning?

In the kitchen, as I waited for the kettle to boil, I took out my mobile again and selected Rex’s number. His phone was switched off and the call went straight to voicemail.

‘It’s me. I’ve just got home to find the house full of builders – engaged apparently by you,’ I snapped. ‘Will you ring me as soon as you get this and tell me what the hell is going on?’ I hung up and threw the phone down on the worktop. How dare he do this without talking to me about it first? A voice behind me made me jump.

‘Tea up, is it, Mrs T? Me and Jim are spittin’ feathers.’

‘Right, coming up.’ I threw a couple of teabags into two mugs and got out the milk and sugar.

‘Three sugars each,’ Bob instructed. ‘And if you’ve got any biccies they’ll be gratefully received as they say. Be a while before we get anything to eat tonight.’

Tight-lipped I got out a fresh packet of biscuits and a plate.

I sat fuming during the two hours that followed while Bob and Jim banged away upstairs, their portable radio booming out ‘heavy metal’. Finally at about half past seven Bob appeared in the kitchen doorway again.

‘Right, we’re off,’ he informed me. ‘Broken the back of that bathroom a treat if I do say it myself. Should finish it tomorrow all bein’ well as they say. We ain’t left you with no lav so you won’t have to get a bucket out.’ He chuckled. ‘We’ll be back bright and early in the mornin’ if that’s OK with you.’

‘All right. Thanks, Mr Harris.’

‘Oh, call me Bob. Don’t stand on ceremony, don’t me and Jim. Night then, Mrs T. Have a nice weekend.’

After the men had gone I made myself a sandwich and tried to watch TV but I was too angry to concentrate so I switched it off. It
was eleven o’clock when Rex finally arrived home. He had clearly had a drink and was in a jovial mood.

‘Hello sweetheart. How’s my favourite brunette then?’ He planted a beery kiss on my cheek and began to take off his coat.

‘Did you get my message?’ I asked him.

He looked puzzled. ‘Message?’

‘I tried to ring you – about the builders.’ When he still looked nonplussed I sprang up. ‘Rex! Don’t play the innocent with me. What the hell did you think you were doing, engaging builders to do what you’ve had months to do yourself? And doing it without a word to me! Didn’t you think it might have been better to talk it over first?’

My anger seemed to sober him up. ‘Talk it over? Just look at you now and ask yourself why I did it without telling you. You always bloody overreact to everything.’

‘It’s not just a question of overreacting,’ I shouted. ‘How on earth are we going to
pay
for it?’

He turned away from me, his face sheepish. ‘Is there anything to eat or drink? I’ve had nothing since lunch.’

‘Rex! Answer me,’ I demanded. ‘Did you get an estimate from these people? How much is it going to cost, and just where is the money coming from to pay for it all?’

He waved a dismissive hand. ‘It’s taken care of so you don’t have to worry.’ He walked out of the room but I followed him through to the kitchen where he began looking in the fridge.

‘Taken care of –
how
?’

‘Is there any cheese?’

I put a none-too-gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘Rex! Look at me. Tell me the truth. What have you done? If you’ve taken out a loan….’

‘I haven’t taken out a loan – well, not officially,’ he mumbled.

‘Go on.’ I stood in front of him, blocking the doorway. ‘I’m waiting and you’re going nowhere until you tell me. What have you done?’

He sighed and put down the can of beer he’d just taken from the fridge. ‘OK. I asked your folks to help out.’

I stared at him. ‘You
what
? My heart was thudding and I felt my neck and face flushing. ‘How
dare
you. You know how I feel about
asking them for anything.’

He shrugged. ‘They’re loaded. And they’ve always given you anything you asked for.’

‘Anything except real parenting, which is why I’ve always been so determined to stand on my own feet. I don’t want to take anything from them ever again. I’ve told you how I feel enough times so why can’t you understand?’

‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ he said calmly. ‘This house is
your
dream project, not mine, and now it’s time to admit that you’ve taken on more than you can cope with. We need help and they can afford to give it. Anyway they were only too delighted to be able to help out.’

‘I bet they were,’ I said bitterly. ‘They’ve always thought they could buy my loyalty. This is their way of making me admit that I still need them – bringing me to heel. Now that they’re retired a daughter is suddenly an asset, an adjunct to complete their idyllic lifestyle and show off to their friends. No matter that it’s the child who used to be nothing more than an inconvenience to them.’

‘Oh, stop being so melodramatic! You’re overreacting again.’ Rex pulled the ring-pull off the can of beer and took a long drink from it. ‘And you wonder why I never asked you first.’

‘You could have done the work that those builders have done today,’ I said. ‘In one day they’ve achieved more than you’ve done in three months.’

‘I’m an artist, not a bloody navvy!’ He was angry now. ‘You say you want to stand on your own feet and show your mum and dad how independent you are, but would a nice little semi in the suburbs do? Would it hell! You just wanted to best them, didn’t you? You wanted to kick them in the teeth and tell them what they could do with their money. Well I’m sorry but it’s backfired. I’m not going to slave away at work I hate and let my new career that I worked so hard for go down the tubes just for some crazy hang-up of yours.’ He glared at me. ‘Get real, Sophie.’ He swallowed the remnants of his can and tossed the empty can vaguely in the direction of the bin. ‘I’m going to bed.’

It was an hour before I crept upstairs and into bed beside Rex, an hour during which I’d thought long and hard. He had a point.
Maybe I’d been unfair to him. It wasn’t his fault that my parents thought cash could solve everything. His parents may have been poor but at least they loved their children.

Thinking he was asleep I slid into bed and lay still but after a few minutes he turned to me. ‘Look, Soph, I’m sorry.’

I eased myself away from his reaching arms. ‘No, listen, I’ve been thinking,’ I said. ‘You were right. I let us in for more than we could handle and I’m sorry. We’ll let the builders finish the work then we’ll put the house on the market. As soon as we’ve sold it we’ll pay the loan back with the appropriate interest, then we’ll look for the little suburban semi you’ve set your heart on. Happy?’

There was a pause then he turned over, away from me. ‘Whatever you say,’ he mumbled.