“How long does the show last?”
“An hour and a half.”
And then, thought Maggie, what? If he phones over his story, it will be a tour of the pubs all the way back to Buss.
“I’ve got something to do earlier in Cheltenham, Peter,” she said. “I’ll take my car and meet you there.”
“I’ll wait for you outside. The show starts at three.”
“See you.” Maggie put down the receiver.
“What was that about?” asked Fell curiously. “I mean, what have you got to do in Cheltenham?”
“I thought I could look for a new dress, if that’s all right with you.”
“Of course. Have a good time.”
“Off to bed with you and try to get a good night’s sleep.”
“It’s so hot,” mourned Fell.
“This weather can’t last forever. I’ll clear up here. Off with you.”
Fell lay awake upstairs, listening to the domestic sounds from below as Maggie washed and dried and put away the dishes. He would need to pull his weight a bit more, he thought. Maggie was doing everything. She would make a good wife. He supposed if she was keen on Peter, they’d probably get married.
His life stretched out in front of him, empty and bleak. Without Maggie, he would be so very much on his own.
¦
Maggie did go to Cheltenham before she was due to meet Peter and went from shop to shop trying to find a dress which would make Fell look at her as a desirable woman and not as a cosy friend.
She was pleased with her new trim figure, but mourned the fact that nothing could be done to thin her legs, which were thick and stocky below the knee. At last she found a black dress which was cut lower on the bosom than anything she had ever worn before. It fitted her beautifully and was long enough in the skirt to hide her legs. She had taken the money Fell had given her, but felt guilty at paying so much. She could have bought several pretty cotton dresses for the same price.
The sight of herself in the fitting-room mirror when she tried on the black dress had depressed her. Somehow, she felt the new hairstyle and contact lenses might have transformed her a good deal from the old Maggie, but she could not see much of a transformation.
Peter was waiting outside the town hall. He was relatively sober. “You look great,” he said. “That was a good time we had the other night.”
“Is your idea of a good time getting drunk and passing out?” asked Maggie curiously.
He burst out laughing and put an arm about her shoulders. “All I need is the love of a good woman to straighten me out. What does Fell think about you going out with me?”
“He doesn’t mind. He thinks it’s a good idea to have the press on our side,” lied Maggie, who had no intention of telling Peter that Fell did not seem to care at all, and, furthermore, they were not even engaged.
“Couldn’t get front seats,” said Peter. “The bigger papers like the
“Is there enough money around Cheltenham to pay for designer creations such as Gucci and Versace?” asked Maggie.
“Lots of money in the whole of Gloucestershire. About the richest county in England. But this show is for charity, Save the Children. Mind you, if any of these women want to buy something, they can mark it down and get it ordered in at that new boutique Femme Fatale on the Parade.” Maggie looked nervously around at all the fashionably dressed women. “How much does a ticket to this show cost?” she whispered.
“One hundred pounds.”
Maggie gulped. “That’s an awful lot of money.”
“It’s all in a good cause.”
There was a long catwalk running down the centre of the main room in the town hall. Just before the lights went down, Maggie thought she saw a familiar face. She scanned the room again but, with a roll of drums, the catwalk was lit up and the faces of the audience sank back into darkness.
The models strutted past. Peter scribbled furiously in a notebook, muttering to Maggie, “I’ll never remember the names of these creations if I don’t take notes.”
“They’re all in the catalogue,” whispered Maggie.
“I need my own descriptions or I’ll never be able to tell one photograph from another when it comes to doing the captions,” said Peter. “I mean, what the hell is faille?”
Maggie sat back to enjoy the show. The outfits were not the outrageous creations usually designed only to catch the headlines at the Paris shows, but beautiful designs which got round after round of applause. The models pouted and swayed. There was one model who looked about fourteen years old. She was thin to the point of emaciation. Her arms and legs were like sticks, and her collarbones jutted out.
What a world, marvelled Maggie, when they are dropping like flies from starvation in Africa, and yet that anorexic little girl is wearing a dress the price of which could probably feed a whole orphanage for quite a time.
At last the show finished. The photographer joined them. “Better get back with this, Peter.”
“No time for a drink?”
“No,” said the photographer.
“What about this evening, Maggie?” asked Peter.
“I’m going out with Fell,” said Maggie, shuddering at the thought of another evening watching Peter getting drunk.
“I’ll phone you.”
Maggie stood on the steps of the town hall blinking in the sunlight. Then she walked towards the Parade. May as well have a look at the boutique, Femme Fatale.
Cheltenham is a Regency town, with one beautiful street of white stuccoed houses after another.
The Parade boasts the most expensive shops.
Maggie found the shop, Femme Fatale, and went inside. She looked at a few price labels and then shot out again. Even if she won the lottery, would she ever contemplate paying that much for one dress?
She walked to the car park and then drove home, wishing she had the courage to persuade Fell to take her out for dinner in the French restaurant so that she could wear her new dress.
But when she got home and had answered Fell’s questions about the show, he said, “I’m getting my courage back. I think we should go to Johnny Tremp’s again this evening and keep watch.”
“All right,” said Maggie weakly.
So they spent a long evening watching Johnny Tremp’s bungalow, but no one came in and no one went out.
“Maybe we’d be better to risk the wrath of the villagers and go back and snoop around during the day,” said Fell as they drove back home.
“I s’pose,” said Maggie. “Did I tell you I bought a new dress today?”
“Nice?”
“Bit of an extravagance, actually. Black and slinky and only to be worn in the evening.”
“Then we’d better give it an airing. We’ll take a break and go to the French restaurant.” The French restaurant was actually called Chez Nous, but the locals had just called it ‘the French restaurant’ ever since it had opened in Buss five years before.
“You are good to me, Fell,” said Maggie.
“You saved my life.”
“I don’t want your gratitude, Fell.”
“But you’ve got it. Something’s happened to me. I’m not frightened any more.”
“That’s good.” Maggie laughed. “If you’re not frightened, then I’m not frightened.”
She parked the car outside the house, feeling, as they went in and reset the burglar alarm, that for the first time in her life she was really coming home. Then the miserable thought struck her that this was only a temporary arrangement. A strangled sob escaped her.
