didn’t just design dresses that she was passionate about—she also designed dresses to sell. You had to if you were a businesswoman, or so her favourite tutor had told her at college. And frothy, traditional dresses did sell—no doubt about it, there was always a market for them.
Caroline experimentally held the dress up in front of her. ‘Do you like it?’
‘Your waist is going to look like Scarlett O’Hara’s in that,’ promised Holly truthfully.
Caroline clutched the dress to her. ‘I’ve dreamed of a wedding dress like this one ever since I was a little girl!’
‘Well, that’s what tends to happen.’ Holly smiled. ‘Just so long as you aren’t marrying a man who wants you to elope in a short red dress on the back of his motorbike!’
Caroline frowned. ‘I think that’s what most men would like, if the truth were known. Men don’t like a lot of fuss, do they?’
Holly had learnt to agree with the customer—up to a point. ‘Generally speaking, no.’
‘But I’m a great believer in tradition,’ said Caroline firmly.
‘But not tradition simply for the sake of it, surely?’ the imp in Holly argued back.
Caroline fixed her with a look of mild amusement. ‘Most certainly I do. Tradition is the bedrock of society—the fabric that binds us together and links us with our past. Now...’ she ran her finger along a ruffle of lace on one of the sleeves ‘...can I go and try this on?’
‘Please do,’ said Holly. ‘The changing room is over here. What shoe size are you?’
‘Only four.’ Caroline gave a little wriggle of her shoulders as she projected a dainty foot forward like a ballet dancer. ‘I’m only little, I’m afraid.’
‘Then take these shoes with you—and call me if you need me,’ said Holly gently, and drew back the velvet curtain to the changing room. She found herself wondering why Caroline had no one with her. Brides rarely came looking for gowns alone—they generally brought their mother or a best friend. Someone close enough to be brutally honest when asked the universal question, Does my bottom look big in this?
While Caroline was in the changing room, Holly hunted around for more accessories—veil and headdress—which she thought might go well with the dress.
And when Caroline reappeared, looking a little self-conscious in all her finery, Holly experienced the familiar feeling of awe and wonder at how a wedding dress could transform a woman into a goddess. Women stood differently in a wedding dress. Walked differently.
‘That ivory silk does wonders for your complexion,’ she told her admiringly.
Caroline twirled in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror. ‘Does it? It’s beautiful,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I feel just like a fairy princess!’
‘It’s much too big around the waist. Here—let me take it in a bit.’ Pins on her wristband, Holly crouched down and adjusted the waist and then the hem.
While she was making her alterations, Holly chatted and listened. Women opened up to their dressmakers, and Caroline was no exception. By the end of the fitting, Holly was left with the impression that Caroline was a pleasant and competent woman, but grindingly dull and conventional!
It was getting on for lunch-time when the bride-to-be came out of the changing room, an ordinary woman once more in her cords and sweater. Holly looked up from the ivory silk and smiled at her. ‘So what made you choose my little shop in Woodhampton for your wedding dress?’
‘Nothing more inspiring than geography, I’m afraid.’ Caroline found a compact inside her handbag, and, peering into the mirror, began to pat the shine off her neat little nose. ‘I’m going to be living here, you see.’
‘Oh? Whereabouts?’
‘In Woodhampton itself.’ Caroline’s voice became injected with pride. ‘There’s a rather nice Georgian house in the village,’ she confided. ‘Apson House. I expect you know it.’
For a moment Holly’s heart missed a beat while the world stopped turning. Either that or she would wake up in a moment. She felt all the blood draining from her face, and wondered whether she had a corresponding colour loss. ‘Yes, I know it,’ she replied, in a muffled voice which seemed to come from a different pair of lungs than hers. Then forced herself to ask the question, as if she didn’t already know the answer, ‘And wh-who’s your fiancé?’
Caroline frowned, antennae alerted by the fine beads of sweat sheening Holly’s brow. ‘It’s Luke,’ she said precisely, her pale grey gaze piercing. ‘Luke Goodwin. Do you know him?’
Holly was experiencing sensations she had only ever read about. Head like cotton wool. Legs like jelly. Stomach turned to water. She was terribly afraid that she might funt. And meanwhile the unbelievable fact was hammering into her brain. Luke Goodwin was engaged to be married to the grindingly dull Caroline Casey!
Luke Goodwin was a no-good deceiving bastard!
‘Do you know him?’ repeated Caroline ominously, sounding as if she were counsel for the prosecution, and Holly were on the witness stand.
Well, she couldn’t lie. Margaret, Luke’s cleaner, knew that she had been staying up at the house while the shop was being renovated, and so did everyone else in the village. ‘Yes, I know him,’ she answered steadily.
Caroline looked at her wordlessly, her eyebrows raised in expectation.
‘You see, I was...I was staying up at Apson House—’
‘You were what?’ came the disbelieving snap.
‘Just for a couple of weeks—’
‘A couple of weeks?’ Caroline’s eyes were spitting fire. ‘Perhaps you’d care to explain?’
Holly swallowed. ‘This shop and the flat above it were in the most dreadful state when I arrived, and Luke kind of came to the rescue. He had to sack the agent and there was nowhere habitable for me to stay—that’s why he put me up.’
‘And why would he do that?’ Caroline asked, in a voice of quiet menace.
‘Because he owns the freehold of this building—but you probably knew that already.’
Caroline’s mouth had thinned into a sarcastic line. ‘I’m afraid that my knowledge of Luke’s life in England is somewhat patchy—certainly when compared to yours. You must fill me in, Holly. Just how well do you actually know Luke?’
Holly stared at her. The inference was clear. ‘What do you mean, exactly?’
‘I’ll tell you exactly what I mean!’ Caroline put her head forward, like a tortoise emerging from its shell and blinked rapidly at Holly. ‘Luke is a man with certain, shall we say... appetites? And he’s a little old-fashioned at heart You know, one of those men who marry a woman because they love and respect her, but who will avail themselves of an attractive substitute should the need arise—if you’ll forgive the pun,’ she finished maliciously. ‘So did he?’
Holly’s
