Читать книгу The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop: The feel-good romantic comedy to read in 2018 - Tracy Corbett - Страница 9

Laura could always sense when intervention was needed. It was partly why she was so good at her job, even if she did say so herself. The ability to read a person was an essential trait when selling wedding dresses. Brides weren’t just purchasing a dress, they were buying into the dream, creating a wondrous fairy tale that would export them into a romantic whirlwind of perfection. Weddings were about excess and style, accessories and glamour, the whole event organised with military precision, choreographed down to the last scented petal, ensuring the guests were left in spellbound awe, watching as the stunning bride and slightly stunned groom sailed away on a cloud of wistful bliss, their bank accounts empty, their hearts filled with love.

And then there were brides like Anita.

Laura moved her client through to the alcove at the side of the shop, behind the rails of pricey designer gowns, and opened the curtain with a dramatic swish, as if revealing the sparkling contents of Aladdin’s cave. ‘I think we might have what you’re looking for through here.’

With some hesitation, the woman followed. ‘I don’t want anything fancy. It’d be ridiculous at my age to turn up in one of those big frilly gowns. I just want something simple. You know, tasteful, appropriate for a woman in her fifties.’

Laura smiled. ‘I quite understand. Which is why we have a selection specifically designed for just such a requirement.’ She moved across to the rail of dresses. ‘At Truly Scrumptious we cater for all brides, including those looking for a more bespoke service; perhaps marrying for the second time, or simply wishing to have a more low-key occasion. Not everyone wants or can afford a huge whistles and bells production.’

The woman visibly relaxed. ‘Oh, I agree. We’d love to have a big do, but we just can’t afford it. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to find something within my budget.’

‘Then you’ve come to the right place.’ Laura lifted a dress off the rack, an ivory-coloured vintage design with lace overlay and belted waist. ‘This style proves very popular for the more mature bride. The knee-length cut and capped sleeves give it a less formal feel, yet the detail in the fabric and underlay skirting provides enough glamour and sophistication to give it impact.’ Laura waited for the woman to be seduced by the beauty of the dress before adding, ‘At seven hundred pounds, I think you’ll agree it’s very reasonably priced.’

When the woman coloured, Laura replaced the dress, moving on to the next rail.

‘However, our dresses start at one hundred pounds, rising to several thousand, so hopefully we have something for everyone.’

The woman edged towards the cheaper end of the rail. ‘It’s a simple ceremony, you see. Followed by a reception in our local village hall.’

Laura nodded. ‘Of course. But it is your wedding day, and you’ll be the star attraction. Don’t be too afraid to stand out.’ The woman’s expression indicated she hadn’t thought of that. ‘And if you don’t mind me saying, you have an amazing figure. Any of these retro designs would complement your frame perfectly, making you the envy of many women half your age.’

The woman coloured again.

Laura knew she was winning her over. ‘Why don’t I leave you to browse through the dresses at your leisure? Let me know when you find something you’d like to try on.’

‘Yes, thank you. I’d like that.’

Laura smiled. Another fish baited, hooked and reeled into her lair, primed for a sale. A relaxed and comfortable customer was much more likely to buy, Laura had learnt. If you evoked trust, created confidence and gave them the illusion of being in control, they would hand over their credit card. If you pushed too hard, they went elsewhere. All tricks Laura had mastered since setting up the business three years ago.

She turned up the volume on the love songs CD and pressed the wall-mounted perfumer, releasing a discreet waft of rose water into the air. ‘Can I tempt you to glass of fizz, Anita?’

‘Oh, no, I best not…’ And then she paused. ‘Actually, you know what, that would be lovely. After all, you only get married … twice.’ She laughed at her own joke.

Laura laughed along with her. ‘Excellent decision.’ She left the woman to it and headed into the kitchen to commence stage two of her carefully honed sales seduction technique.

Just because Laura had perfected the art of turning even the most difficult customer into a satisfied one, it didn’t mean she was mercenary. Far from it. She genuinely cared about her brides, wishing them every happiness on their special day. She just wanted them to be wearing one of her dresses when they said ‘I do’. Was that such a bad thing? She’d never sell someone a dress that wasn’t right for them, that was why she carried such an extensive range. It was a competitive market out there. She needed to be on her game to stay in business.

Not that she needed the money. Martin made enough to keep a roof over their heads, but that wasn’t the point. She needed something in her life to focus on, to challenge her, to bring out the romantic in her. And since her marriage no longer did that, running Truly Scrumptious helped to fill the void.

Laura removed the chilled bottle of Prosecco from the fridge.

Things had been so different eight years ago, when she’d first met Martin. Fresh out of university, his boyish charm and honey-coloured hair had provoked an immediate spark when he’d propositioned her in a Starbucks café, wooing her with frothy macchiatos and his plans for a career as a sports agent. He was vibrant and energised, with big hopes and a persuasive persona. She’d been charmed, entertained, and fallen in love before finishing her second coffee.

Opening the bottle of wine, Laura poured two large glasses, ignoring the fact that it was barely lunchtime and too early to be drinking. Catching sight of herself in the vanity mirror, she unclipped her long auburn hair, smoothed down the kinks and refastened the clasp. It wouldn’t do to look dishevelled.

Her striking appearance had been one of the things that had first attracted Martin. He loved her pale skin and long legs, his desire for her evident from the start. And she’d loved it. In those early days he’d been just as smitten as her, encouraging her dreams to become a fashion designer, promising her a world of adventure and spontaneity. And for the first few years that’s exactly what their life had been like. Moonlit picnics, floating down the Thames in a rowing boat looking at the stars, travelling to exotic destinations, existing on adrenaline and limited income. She’d never been happier.

In turn, Laura had supported Martin through his internship, holding down two jobs and giving up the opportunity to work in New York for a wedding dress designer so he could pursue his dream of becoming a sports agent. They’d married on a beach in Phuket and hitch-hiked their way through Vietnam and Thailand for their honeymoon. It was the stuff of dreams.

Laura took another slug of wine.

For the first couple of years, things had been great. But then Martin had become disillusioned with not being able to break through into his chosen career and had taken a job at a financial recruitment firm. It wasn’t all bad; the increase in income enabled them to buy their first home and when Laura took over the management of Truly Scrumptious things were pretty good. But then Martin’s job grew steadily more demanding, the hours increased and soon he was coming home tired and grumpy. They stopped going out during the week, and then at weekends, and then Martin’s work took him travelling without her and she became more and more fed up.

Laura contemplated how she socialised more with her friends these days than with her husband. It was a depressing thought. She carried the tray through to the alcove, her cheeks flushed from the wine.

She wouldn’t mind so much if the sex was still good, but even that had tailed off. There was a time when Martin couldn’t keep his hands off her. Now she was lucky to get a quickie before bedtime. If she didn’t make a move in the ten minutes before climbing into bed it was game over, Martin would be asleep before she’d even cleaned her teeth. Their sex life was no longer the stuff of dreams – it was in danger of fizzling out completely.

In her absence, Anita had been productive. Three dresses had been selected for trying on, including the retro dress that Laura had picked out.

Placing the tray on the distressed-finish side table, Laura handed the woman a glass of Prosecco. ‘Here we are, a little something to aid the task of dress hunting. I see you’ve made progress. Would you like to try them on?’

Anita nodded, sipping delicately at her wine. Unlike Laura, who’d downed her glass in two large gulps.

Laura carried the dresses through to the changing room. ‘Give me a shout when you need zipping up.’

Whilst she waited for Anita to change, Laura picked up the bouquet of flowers Martin had sent her for her birthday and carried them through to the kitchen. The primroses had lasted well, but the cut irises were wilting, bending low as if hanging their heads in shame. The petals were dry and withering, sapped of life and vibrancy. Kind of how she felt about her marriage.

Anita called out from the other room. ‘I’m ready.’

Dumping the flowers in the bin, Laura returned to her bride.

She found Anita wearing the retro dress, the ivory colouring a perfect complement to her skin tone. The woman stared at herself in the mirror, swishing one way and then the other, enchanted by the movement of the petticoats around her legs.

Laura fastened the zip, the nipped-in waistline enhancing the woman’s trim figure. ‘You look beautiful.’

Anita smiled self-consciously. ‘I do, don’t I?’

Laura nodded. ‘It’s perfect for you.’

A quick glance at the price tag, followed by a biting of the lower lip, preceded Anita announcing, ‘Sod the cost. I have to have it.’

Laura smiled. Things might not be great at home, but she was a frigging genius when it came to selling wedding dresses.