A Vintage Christmas (2 page)

He’s right. Even though we moved in together a year ago, I barely get time to see Sam these days, what with his long days on editorial shoots and mine at work. Then of course, there’s his daughter, Sophie who visits us regularly...

He looks at me with his cute lopsided smile and I lean forward to properly reciprocate his earlier kiss. It no longer amazes me that after so long together each kiss still feels like the first: just
right.

When I eventually pull away, I smile and recite what he told me when he had the idea for this little romantic getaway:
‘We need to take time out of our hectic schedules to celebrate us,’
he’d said.
‘And what better time than on the 20th July, the weekend of our nineteen month anniversary!’

I’d laughed at this as I hadn’t even realised that’s what it was. I mean how many guys actively remember a date like that? But Sam defies everything I thought I knew about men. Not that I had much experience prior to him, just Jamie, my ex-boyfriend of five years, who was as unreliable as he was unromantic. Sam is poles apart from him, he calls when he says he’s going to, wants to see me all the time, plans his time off to fit around me, shows an active interest in my work, my friends and my family and celebrates random anniversaries just because. In many ways he’s the perfect boyfriend.

I kiss him again, closing my eyes to fully immerse myself in the warm welcome of his lips. After a breathless exchange he rests his forehead against mine, brushes my nose with his and then nudges me gently out of the seat.

The cool summer breeze tickles my bare arms and billows through my 1980s canary yellow day dress. It’s made from the lightest of cottons, with buttons down the front, cap sleeves and a white double breasted collar. I bought it on a buying trip to a vintage fair at Snape Maltings in Suffolk. I’ve added a butterfly clasp belt, vintage gold pointed pumps and my cute round 1950s hand luggage, complete with a loop handle that fits perfectly over my wrist. I always aim to look like I’ve stepped back in time, but here in this pretty old station, I feel like we actually have.

I glance at Sam who is striding briskly next to me and smile. He instantly slips his arm round my waist and we fall into step. I can’t believe it’s gone by so quickly. Just over a year and a half ago my life changed completely. Rupert promoted me from stockroom girl to creative director of Hardy’s, and I moved out of my sister’s house into my own little studio flat in Kentish Town – not that I lived there long. Once Sam and I got together we knew we didn’t want to be apart. We rent a place together now – a cute little two bedroom garden flat just down the road in Tufnell Park. It’s just big enough for me and Sam, and Sophie when she stays.

I take a deep, restorative breath of the warm July air and glance up at Sam, feeling the same shiver of happiness that I always do when I gaze into his tobacco-brown eyes. His hair has turned a warm honey colour in the sun and his arms are tanned from all the shoots he’s been doing, simultaneously highlighting some new muscles gained from lifting all that heavy equipment. But it is his wide, easy smile that always makes my heart soar.

I still can’t believe we’re together. Sam, the stockroom guy I always liked but never saw as anything more than a friend, partly because my confidence was at rock bottom. I just didn’t believe I deserved anyone, let alone someone like him. He was just
Sam
to me, the guy who came to deliver stock to Hardy’s, and there was the added complication of Ella – his girlfriend. Or so I thought. Little did I know they had split up a long time ago – shortly after they’d had Sophie.

I think of her now, his adorable little girl, who has become as big a part of my life as my own niece and nephew, Lola and Raffy. Sam is a great dad. It’s one of the many reasons I love him. He has her almost every weekend – as well as some weeknights, which is fine. I mean, I absolutely love hanging out with them both. We’re a tight little unit, the three of us, and yet I can’t help but admit that sometimes I hanker for more time alone with him. I have accepted that just isn’t on the cards, but I do feel our fledgling relationship has suffered a little because of it.

As our taxi weaves through the gently undulating Gloucestershire roads, I find myself finally sinking into a state of relaxation. Every turn of the road brings a slightly different but equally glorious view of the patchwork fields, like silky green off cuts spread across an endless haberdashery shop of a horizon. Lush woolly bushes weave their way down the seams of the fields, a pale blue ribbon of a stream unrolls beside us and then, in the distance, a spire points like a sewing needle into the wispy, cotton clouds, marking our arrival into the medieval town of Tetbury.

It’s a town I’ve wanted to come to since I was made creative director of Hardy’s, so when Sam suggested a mini-break, I instantly suggested here. I have a particularly vested interest in this Cotswold town because as well as it having some of the best antique shops in the country, historically it is famed for coming to life with the growth of the Cotswold wool trade. As such, the thriving town boasts a wealth of artisanal heritage too, something I would love to tap into. Hardy’s only stocks products made in Britain, so part of my new job role has been to find undiscovered talent. I’ve scoured the big vintage fairs, graduate shows, independent designers, online retailers, style bloggers and small town shops, but it’s a long, slow process.

Last year we had great success with some wonderful entrepreneurs who I discovered at the Grand Designs show in London, displaying their updated versions of 1960s chandeliers. They used to source the vintage lights from Italy, but since that was proving more and more difficult to do, they had decided to design their own glass in a kiln in their garden workshop. The results were fabulous disc-and-hook chandeliers with a retro 60s style but a completely modern feel. I asked them to design a range for Hardy’s and the success was unprecedented. Interior designers and magazine editors went mad for their chandeliers – a big chain of cool organic Burger bars made an order to hang them in every one of their twenty-five sites. The result was that Jan and Andy’s business was completely revived and Hardy’s lighting department lived to see another day.

I know Rupert wants more of these on board at Hardy’s. It’s the only way we can compete in a tough market. Top designers won’t come to us – they go straight to Harvey Nichols and Selfridges – so we have to find the designers
before
they become super successful, and nurture them in-house.

But the new season is just under two weeks away and even though my team of buying assistants (I have a
team!
) have made a huge number of new orders, I’m achingly aware that I need a new brand in the fashion or accessories department – something classically chic and special. Something that will ensure the crowds keep coming back to Hardy’s after the sales.

I hope Tetbury is the place I find it, especially as there’s the added bonus of having Prince Charles’ country residence, Highgrove, on its doorstep. The possibility of Hardy’s securing a supplier with the Prince of Wales’ famous ‘feathers’ (a sign the business holds a Royal Warrant) would be a brilliant boost for Hardy’s. Just look at what Kate Middleton’s endorsement did for Reiss and LK Bennett!

So, to say this is a Busman’s holiday is an understatement. I haven’t told Sam this, of course, he thinks we’re just here for fun. But the truth is, this
is
my fun. Work isn’t just what I do, it’s who I am. And he knows how passionate I am about my job. After all, Hardy’s had hold of my heart long before he did.

I start thinking about the Royal connection, smiling at an image of Camilla, the Duchess of Cornwall, grappling with lovely old Mrs Fawsley over one of her peacock feather fascinators. But then my brain becomes inspired on a bigger scale. We could create a display to honour the work of the British designers loved by Royals over the years. Not just the well-known ones that were bought to the forefront of the British fashion conscious by Kate and Pippa Middleton’s dresses at the Royal wedding, but the lesser known household names, the soaps, the jams – the gin! – loved by Royals past and present. We could have a vintage handbag display inspired by the Queen Mother’s collection, a jewellery display inspired by Wallis Simpson! Magazines are always running features about even the most unlikely historical figures becoming style icons, and during London fashion week the designers were showing Autumn/Winter style is all precision cut coats and capes, tweeds, tartans and bright pops of colour. Prim, ladylike styles that wouldn’t look out of place on the Queen. I can feel the excitement building as I realize it would give me the chance to re-use all the vintage bunting and Coronation memorabilia that we used last year during the Jubilee and Olympics. But, of course, as Sam keeps reminding me, we’re here to relax...

Easier said than done, I think. I bite on my lip and I see Sam glance at me out of the corner of his eye.

‘Evie, no thinking about work – we made a deal.’

‘I know,’ I reply and squeeze his hand trying – and failing – to squeeze out all thoughts of Hardy’s at the same time.

Just then we drive into the pretty town of Tetbury. The market square is a burst of sunshine with reams of bright, flapping bunting and vibrant flowers outside the quaint 17th century wool merchants’ houses and shops. Some are built from the glorious, traditional, higgledy-piggledy Cotswold stone; the others are painted an assortment of confectionary colours. At the centre of it all is the pretty custard coloured medieval Market House complete with pillars. All are presided over by the elegant spire of the 18th century Georgian Gothic Church pointing up into the bright blue, cloudless sky. I clasp my hands together excitedly. I glance at Sam but he’s deep in conversation on the phone. Must be a work call. I’m desperate to fling open the car door and start exploring, but before I know it we have exited the town and driven down a steep-sided road into a pretty hamlet. We pull up in front of an old coaching-house-turned-boutique-hotel in a picturesque location right next to a river. I tap him impatiently on the arm but stop when I realise he’s on the phone to his daughter.

‘I know I usually see you at weekends, Soph,’ he’s saying softly, ‘but I’m going to have you during the week instead! What a brilliant pay-off, huh? It’s the summer holidays so we can spend even more time together. Maybe we could drive down to the seaside for a couple of days, just you and me...’

He pauses and looks at me, mouthing an apology as he does so. ‘No, I’m afraid Evie won’t be able to come, she’ll be working. It’ll just be us. What? Yes, yes she’s here now.’ I call out ‘Hello!’ so Sophie can hear me then pull a sympathetic face as Sam’s voice becomes mellow and placatory. ‘Oh Sophster, I know you want to be here too, but Evie and I are just having a little break together.’ I can see in his stricken face how much he’s struggling with this. I know too well the tremendous guilt he feels by not being with Sophie all the time. He and Ella are on really good terms and are both great with Sophie, but it’s still hard for them both to be away from her. And now I’m an added complication to the mix. She and I love each other and get on really well – there is no obvious jealousy or rivalry, which you sometimes hear about between a new partner and children. We are genuinely good friends – to the point where often, Sam has joked about feeling left out. But it doesn’t change the fact that both of us sometimes wish we were the only love of Sam’s life.

‘Of
course
we miss you Soph,’ Sam is saying now. ‘But you know, sometimes grown-ups like to be together to do grownup things...’

I pull a face to indicate that perhaps that’s not the best direction for the conversation. ‘Um, really
boring
grown-up things,’ he adds, ‘like... like... well, like...’ His face has tensed, frown lines appearing like Roman numerals between his eyebrows and I can tell he’s struggling so I start miming to help him. He raises his eyebrows questioningly and then nods ‘Like wandering round shops! No, Sophie, not
toy
shops–’ he looks at me desperately and I mime walking with a stick. ‘–Er... old shops?’ he says uncertainly. I nod vehemently as he runs with it. ‘
Really
old,
really
boring shops. Honestly Soph, you know, everyone except Evie finds them super boring... yes, even me.’ He grins apologetically at me as I make a mock offended face and hit him. Sam gestures for me to give him more help. So I mime pretending to be dead then follow it by reading a book, yawning with boredom. Sam looks perplexed for a moment then gives me a thumbs up. ‘Oh and we’ll be looking at old historical ruins and churches... Stonehenge is near here you know, have you ever heard of it Soph? What? You want to play with your Zoobles now?’ I use my middle fingers again to mime walking. ‘Ok love, I’ll let you go. Evie and I are going on a long country walk through some fields...’ I take a deep inhale and pretend to be sick. Sam laughs and I hold my nose and fake-gag again, ‘... through fields full of cow pats!’ Sam finishes and tries to straighten his face as he listens to his little girl. ‘Yep, yep, that too Soph. We’ll be drinking lots of tea and reading newspapers. See, I told you grown-up things are boring! What? You want to watch
Tangled
now – ok...’

I smile, job done. Sophie has clearly been duly placated. I open the car door as Sam begins the process of saying goodbye to his daughter.

A minute later he appears out of the car.

‘Sorry about that,’ he says, throwing me an apologetic smile. He hands a crisp £10 note to the driver who has been leaning against the bonnet smoking for the entire duration of the phone call. ‘Keep the change,’ Sam says warmly.

‘Very kind,’ the driver replies in a Bristolian burr. ‘Here for a romantic break are you?’

‘How did you guess?’ Sam laughs as he makes his way over to me.

The cabbie turns and winks and I feel myself blushing as he glances at my bare ring finger and then nudges Sam. ‘The cour-tin’ days are the best, savour every moment of ‘em! No bother with kids and all that palaver.’ He hands us our cases and then drives off back up the winding road, oblivious to Sam’s previous phone conversation and the clanger he’s just dropped.