“Honestly, Joy, I can’t see what’s so funny, Patty must—”
“Oh, Dawn, for God’s sake, can’t you? It’s the funniest thing I’ve heard for years! Frank buggers off like that without a word, then turns up two weeks later in the middle of the Ladies’ Cocktail at Goode’s because he’s lost his front door key—it’s priceless! Wait till I tell Dave!”
“You don’t have to make a comedy out of it, Joy. You wouldn’t be laughing if it happened to you. You never think of what Patty’s gone through.”
“More fool Patty. Well, maybe she’ll know better now. It’s time she sharpened her wits. I wouldn’t have had him back, not at any price!”
“Yes, well, you’re not Patty like I keep saying. And that reminds me, how did she look to you on Sunday? Did she look sick or anything? I mean, it’s not like her to faint. She says she’s not going in to work today, she’s not feeling a hundred per cent. She’s going to the doctor. I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Oh, she’s all right, she was her usual self on Sunday, didn’t say much, didn’t do much, sat on the beach with the papers and that. She’ll brighten up now that Frank’s back, ha ha ha.”
“Well, maybe she’ll have a break, maybe she’ll take some sick leave, have a rest for a while. She’s had a bad time, she needs a break. You just mind your tongue when you talk to her, she hasn’t got your sense of humour.”
“Yes, that’s her problem, isn’t it? Well, maybe she’ll learn. She’d better, if she’s going to stick with Frank. Oh God, what a story. Didn’t have his key! If only that was the only thing he didn’t have!”
“Honestly, Joy,” said Dawn. “You’re awful.”
Miss Cartright came swishing over to Ladies’ Cocktail and having cast an expert eye over the remaining sale items on their rail she beckoned to Lisa.
“We’ve just heard from Mrs. Williams,” she told her. “She saw her doctor yesterday and the result is that she will be away for the rest of this week and the whole of next. As you know, this was to have been your last week with us but it would be a great help if you could come in next week to cover for Mrs. Williams because although the sales finish this week, thank goodness, there’ll be lots to do next week with the new stock going out. You’ll have to work like a slave. Are you game?”
“Gosh,” said Lisa, delighted. “Of course!”
“Jolly good,” said Miss Cartright. “That’s settled then. I’ll be helping out here during this week if you find yourselves short-handed. I’ll just go and speak to Miss Jacobs so that we all know where we are.”
She swished away. Lisa could not wait until lunchtime: she ran across the carpet and entered Magda’s pink-lit cave.
“Magda!” she said in an urgent whisper. “Is it still here?”
Magda understood her instantly.
“Yes,” she said. “It is still here.”
“It’s sold,” said Lisa.
“Very good,” said Magda. “I will put it aside for you.”
Lisa returned during her lunch hour after having changed.
“Ah, Mademoiselle Miles,” said Magda, beaming. “You have come to collect your frock, yes? It is ready for you—shall I pack it or did you wish to try it on once more?”
“Oh, Magda—I’m sorry—I can’t take it away today, I haven’t any money with me. I won’t have all the money until tomorrow week—you see I’m working next week as well to cover for Patty Williams while she’s sick.”
“Ah yes,” said Magda. “I see. Well it is not the usual thing in here but for so distinguished a customer I make an exception. I will put it away in the alterations cupboard until next week. Oh, by the way”—she took Lisette, the rustling white and scarlet-spotted fantasy of young girlhood, from its padded hanger and shook it out so that its flounces floated once and sighed back down again—“Miss Cartright has been in here this morning. All our white dresses, this and two others, are a little further reduced. With the staff discount, Lisette is now exactly thirty-five guineas. We are giving it away.”
“Oh,” exclaimed Lisa, “that’s absolutely wonderful!”
She counted the contents of her money box in her head: after paying for Lisette she would actually have some change.