Part 18 (2/2)

'Well I know the feeling.' I left a respectful gap in the conversation then I said tentatively, 'Does that mean you'd be willing to put up with me for a week or two?'

She sighed. 'OK, I suppose so, as long as you pay your way, Lou. I can't afford to let you stay rent free.'

'Of course, I wouldn't dream of putting on you.'

'And as long as you try to keep the place tidy,' she went on. 'No dirty laundry hanging around the place. And you take your turns with the shopping and the ch.o.r.es.'

'But of course.' I frowned. 'Didn't I always?'

'Not always, no.'

'You make me sound like a s.l.u.t.'

'Precisely,' she said, looking me straight in the eye.

For a moment we stared at each other, then we both burst out laughing.

'Oh, Lou,' Di said at last. 's.l.u.t or no s.l.u.t, it's good to have you back again.' She looked thoughtful. 'You know, from what you've told me about this Paul Fortune crook, I'm surprised you haven't thought of selling your story to one of the tabloids.'

Her words. .h.i.t me like a ton of bricks. What a brilliant idea! Why hadn't I thought of that? But had the thought crossed the minds of any of the other members of the cast? Had I missed the boat? It was certainly worth finding out.

'Dianne,' I said. 'You are a genius!'

Using Di's computer and at her suggestion, I emailed three of the most popular tabloids there and then while she rustled up a quick supper.

'I'll text you if there are any replies,' she promised. We arranged that I'd move in with all my worldly goods the following week and by the time I got back to the bedsit that night I was feeling a lot more optimistic.

It was a couple of days later at Camilla's that it happened. It was halfway through the morning and business had been slow. I was in the grotty little staffroom making coffee when I heard the shop doorbell chime out its naff ringtone. Camilla rushed into the showroom like she had a wasp in her knickers.

'Good morning. Welcome to Camilla's. How can I help you?'

Hearing her dulcet Estuary English tones, I peeked through the curtain and got the shock of my life. There in the centre of the shop was Cathy, Mark's stroppy sister. She wasn't alone though, the woman she had with her was about thirty, very pretty and quite well dressed. I eavesdropped shamelessly. Cathy's friend was getting married and wanted a wedding dress immediately.

'My fiance wants us to be married as quickly as possible,' she explained. 'He's given me carte blanche on the dress and I want to look spectacular.'

'I'm sure you'd look that, dear, even without the help of one of my creations,' Camilla oiled. She must be feeling as though all her birthdays had come at once as she reached for her most expensive creations.

'This would be perfect for you,' she simpered. 'This style is just right for your lovely figure.' I turned back to my coffee, a wave of nausea was.h.i.+ng over me, then I heard something that stopped the breath in my throat and I almost choked as Cathy said, 'Oh, yes. Do try it on, Franny. I'm sure you'll look lovely in it.'

Franny! Surely that was short for Frances Mark's ex? Was he going to marry this girl he'd been engaged to after all? My first thought was that he must be on the rebound. Then another thought occurred to me: had I been the one on the rebound after her? Had he never really loved me? Had I lost him for good? I held my breath as Franny disappeared into one of the changing rooms, hoping against hope that the dress wouldn't require any alterations. If it did, Camilla would be sure to ask me to help her with the pinning. The thought of facing Cathy made my stomach churn. I couldn't bear the thought of her taking the news of my humiliation triumphantly back to Mark, and them laughing about it together.

Luckily, the dress fitted perfectly and Franny decided to buy it. She paid the exorbitant sum with her credit card and she and Cathy went off together in high spirits, chattering away excitedly. Camilla came back into the staffroom, flushed with the pleasure of success, only to glower at me as she tasted her coffee.

'Stone cold!' she pushed the cup at me. 'Make me another. And please do not peep round the curtain in that vulgar way. Don't think I didn't see you. If you want to learn how to conduct yourself, just come into the shop and help me as any sensible person would do.'

'I was on my break,' I pointed out to her.

'Business comes before breaks in my establishment, as you'll soon learn,' she said.

Who the h.e.l.l did she think she was, speaking to me like that? I was a mature woman, not some spotty teenager. I longed to pour the cooling coffee over her elegant coiffeur but I controlled myself. My turn would come, I promised myself with gritted teeth. At the first sniff of a job, I'd be out of here like a rat up a drainpipe.

Whilst Camilla was out at lunch, I switched on my phone. There were three missed texts from Di. I went into 'messages' and read them. They all said the same.

Editor of the Daily Sphere wants you to get in touch ASAP. Good luck, Di. A phone number followed.

Praying that no customers would come in, I tapped in the number and waited with bated breath, hoping he wasn't out at lunch. His secretary put me through at once. Yes, he'd heard rumours about Paul Fortune's scam, and yes, he was certainly interested in my story. I tentatively asked what the paper would pay, pointing out that I'd lost my entire savings. He was sympathetic. Could I go in and talk about it?

Yes, I could!

This afternoon?

That threw me for a moment. Camilla would never agree to letting me have the afternoon off so I'd have to w.a.n.gle something. One thing was for sure I wasn't going to pa.s.s up a chance like this, whatever it took.

'Is that a problem for you?' he asked.

'No! Not at all,' I a.s.sured him. 'Just say a time and I'll be there.'

The meeting was scheduled for four o'clock so I was going to have to think quickly. As it happened the fates were with me. The answer dropped into my lap minutes before Camilla returned from lunch and I saw at once that this was my chance. Two people came into the shop, one young, the other, I guessed, around fifty-something. Mother and daughter, I guessed, but it soon emerged that the customer was not the daughter but the mother.

'I'm getting married for the second time,' she simpered. 'My first wedding was a rushed affair in a register office so I want this one to make up for what I missed the first time round. I'm planning the full works.'

I looked at her. She was short and on the tubby side, with a figure that I guessed owed much to pies and cakes. She wore too much badly applied make-up and her hair was an unlikely auburn with magenta highlights. I drew out one of Camilla's most expensive gowns.

'Oh, that's lovely but it's a bit plain and ...' She took one look at the price tag and gasped.

'Good G.o.d! I wasn't thinking of paying that kind of money,' she said. I saw the daughter flinch.

'Mum you wouldn't wear a dress like that anyway, would you?'

The mother bridled. 'Why not?'

'Isn't it a bit well young?'

'Everyone says I look years younger than I am!'

'We do have a budget range,' I put in. 'Shall we see if there's anything there that you'd like?'

She cheered up at once just as Camilla walked in. Seeing that I had a customer, she went to the back of the shop and disappeared into the staffroom, where I guessed she had her ear to the gap in the curtain, if not her eye. In the rail of budget dresses was one particularly hideous dress. I'd spotted it on my first day and asked Camilla about it. She told me it had been foisted on her by a sales rep. In return for taking it off his hands, he'd given her a good deal on six other dresses. It was a gypsy-style gown in fuchsia pink with a ruched skirt and the lowest neckline I'd ever seen. It was generously decorated with black lace and diamante and as I'd guessed she would, the woman fell in love with it on sight.

'Oh! I do like that!'

I saw her daughter wince but ignored it. Adopting my best Camilla manner I went into my act. 'This would look perfect on you,' I gushed. 'You have just the right figure for it. When your groom turns and sees you coming down the aisle in this, he's going to go weak at the knees.'

'He's eighty so he's weak at the knees already,' the daughter muttered. I tried hard not to laugh.

'Try it on,' I invited. 'And just you see if I'm not right.'

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