Goode’s, having now risen to a position of seniority in Ladies’ Lingerie.
‘If you can spare me,’ she said to Fay, ‘I’ll just go over and chat to Paula; I haven’t seen her for quite a while.’
The upshot of this chat was that Patty returned to her Ladies’
Cocktail post via the Lingerie Department on the first floor, because Paula wanted her to see some divine nightdresses which had only just come in: an order which had arrived late but which Goode’s had accepted nonetheless because the stock was so exceptional.
Made in a new improved kind of English nylon which, Paula assured Patty, breathed , the nightdresses came in three different styles, in three different colours, but for some reason—perhaps, simply, because the time had come—Patty, against all the odds, had fallen straightaway for one particular model out of all the permutations on offer. When Patty—thin, straw-coloured and unloved Patty—saw the black improved nylon nightdress with the gently gathered skirt edged in a black ruffle, its cross-over bodice and cap sleeves edged in black lace through which was threaded pale pink satin ribbon, her heart was lost, and without a second’s hesitation her hand went, figuratively, into her pocket.
‘Put it on lay-by for me,’ she told Paula, ‘and I’ll settle up next pay-day.’
Well, it wasn’t all that dear, with the staff discount, after all, and she needed a new nightie; I mean, she thought, when did I last buy a nightie? And she looked at the swimming costumes as well, on the way back upstairs to Ladies’ Cocktail, but she left that for another day: I don’t want to go mad, she thought.
10
Fay Baines and her friend Myra Parker were sitting in a booth in Repin’s eating toasted sandwiches, because they were going to a five o’clock, and since it would not finish until after their usual dinner time they ought to have, as Myra pointed out, some proper food to keep themselves going instead of ruining their figures by stuffing themselves with ice-creams and chocolates to stave off their hunger half-way through the film. This was the sort of forward-planning for which Myra was always to be trusted.
Myra’s head was much better screwed down than Fay’s; Myra had a knack for managing the affairs of life. She was now a hostess-cum-receptionist in a nightclub, with a considerable dress allowance, but she did not take advantage of Fay’s discount privileges at
Goode’s, because the evening frocks at Goode’s, she said, were not the type of thing.
‘I need something more glamorous,’ she told Fay. ‘I’ll try the Strand Arcade, or maybe the Piccadilly.’
It was the Saturday following that wan Monday when Fay had sat in front of a salad in the canteen and made such a poor (but interesting) impression on Patty Williams, and she still wasn’t looking her best even though she’d now clocked up several good nights’ sleep. Myra poured herself a second cup of tea from the heavy little silver-plated teapot; she leaned back comfortably in her seat and lit a cigarette, and peered at Fay as she exhaled the smoke.
‘Honey,’ she said—Myra tended to meet quite a few Americans in the line of her duties—‘honey, I don’t like the looks of you today: you don’t look your usual lovely self. Is anything up?’
Fay looked at her plate. What could she say?
‘It’s probably just this new face powder,’ she improvised, ‘I think maybe it makes me look pale.’
‘Then you’d better not use it,’ said Myra, ‘you don’t want to look pale. You can use some of mine when we go to the Ladies’. You want to look your best later on, don’t you?’
Myra smiled slyly, and blew out more smoke. She was referring to a dinner engagement with two men she had met at the night club.
‘I’ll bring my friend,’ she had said when the date was suggested to her, ‘she’s game for anything—but a really nice girl: you needn’t get any funny ideas, youse. Fay’s a nice girl. And so am I,
‘If you can spare me,’ she said to Fay, ‘I’ll just go over and chat to Paula; I haven’t seen her for quite a while.’
The upshot of this chat was that Patty returned to her Ladies’
Cocktail post via the Lingerie Department on the first floor, because Paula wanted her to see some divine nightdresses which had only just come in: an order which had arrived late but which Goode’s had accepted nonetheless because the stock was so exceptional.
Made in a new improved kind of English nylon which, Paula assured Patty, breathed , the nightdresses came in three different styles, in three different colours, but for some reason—perhaps, simply, because the time had come—Patty, against all the odds, had fallen straightaway for one particular model out of all the permutations on offer. When Patty—thin, straw-coloured and unloved Patty—saw the black improved nylon nightdress with the gently gathered skirt edged in a black ruffle, its cross-over bodice and cap sleeves edged in black lace through which was threaded pale pink satin ribbon, her heart was lost, and without a second’s hesitation her hand went, figuratively, into her pocket.
‘Put it on lay-by for me,’ she told Paula, ‘and I’ll settle up next pay-day.’
Well, it wasn’t all that dear, with the staff discount, after all, and she needed a new nightie; I mean, she thought, when did I last buy a nightie? And she looked at the swimming costumes as well, on the way back upstairs to Ladies’ Cocktail, but she left that for another day: I don’t want to go mad, she thought.
10
Fay Baines and her friend Myra Parker were sitting in a booth in Repin’s eating toasted sandwiches, because they were going to a five o’clock, and since it would not finish until after their usual dinner time they ought to have, as Myra pointed out, some proper food to keep themselves going instead of ruining their figures by stuffing themselves with ice-creams and chocolates to stave off their hunger half-way through the film. This was the sort of forward-planning for which Myra was always to be trusted.
Myra’s head was much better screwed down than Fay’s; Myra had a knack for managing the affairs of life. She was now a hostess-cum-receptionist in a nightclub, with a considerable dress allowance, but she did not take advantage of Fay’s discount privileges at
Goode’s, because the evening frocks at Goode’s, she said, were not the type of thing.
‘I need something more glamorous,’ she told Fay. ‘I’ll try the Strand Arcade, or maybe the Piccadilly.’
It was the Saturday following that wan Monday when Fay had sat in front of a salad in the canteen and made such a poor (but interesting) impression on Patty Williams, and she still wasn’t looking her best even though she’d now clocked up several good nights’ sleep. Myra poured herself a second cup of tea from the heavy little silver-plated teapot; she leaned back comfortably in her seat and lit a cigarette, and peered at Fay as she exhaled the smoke.
‘Honey,’ she said—Myra tended to meet quite a few Americans in the line of her duties—‘honey, I don’t like the looks of you today: you don’t look your usual lovely self. Is anything up?’
Fay looked at her plate. What could she say?
‘It’s probably just this new face powder,’ she improvised, ‘I think maybe it makes me look pale.’
‘Then you’d better not use it,’ said Myra, ‘you don’t want to look pale. You can use some of mine when we go to the Ladies’. You want to look your best later on, don’t you?’
Myra smiled slyly, and blew out more smoke. She was referring to a dinner engagement with two men she had met at the night club.
‘I’ll bring my friend,’ she had said when the date was suggested to her, ‘she’s game for anything—but a really nice girl: you needn’t get any funny ideas, youse. Fay’s a nice girl. And so am I,
Similar Books
