This was W S McMaster talking. Her boss, giving orders. If she put things back on their rightful footing, she’d accept.
Miss Jardine would accept. It was only Meg who was having stupid quibbles.
‘Show me what you have,’ she said, resigned. Two more days of autocracy and he’d be gone. Or sooner. She should check the news on the air strike.
Why didn’t she want to?
‘What about this?’ the sales assistant asked, and held up a dress that made her gasp. It was pretty in the real sense of the word. It was a nineteen-fifties halter neck, cinch-waisted frock with a full circled skirt. It was white with red dots. It was young, frivolous and so far away from what Meg always wore that she shook her head before she thought about it.
She wore sensible black skirts and white shirts, or she wore overalls, or she wore jeans, and somewhere at home she had a pale grey skirt for church and funerals.
She did not wear polka dots.
‘Something sensible,’ she said.
‘It’s Christmas,’ the girl said and then she looked at Meg’s overalls. ‘And…excuse me for asking, but that looks bad.’
‘It nearly was bad.’
‘So it could have been bad,’ the girl said and Meg realised she was in the hands of a master saleswoman. ‘And, if it had been, you’d never have got the chance to wear polka dots. And he…’ she looked meaningfully in the direction William had gone ‘…would never have seen you in polka dots.’
‘Perish the thought,’ Meg said, trying to sound sarcastic, but it didn’t come off.
‘So will you try it?’
No, Meg thought. But she couldn’t say it.
She looked at the dress, and then she also glanced in the direction William had gone. She could no longer see him.
He’d be back.
Tomorrow or the next day he’d be gone.
What the heck. It was his plastic.
She was merely following her boss’s orders. Only he no longer felt like her boss. He felt like something else completely.
So did she. She stared into the mirror and saw the woman she’d been two days ago behind the woman she was now. And she thought of the impossibility of going back to what she had been.
I’ll be one of those elderly secretaries, she thought, totally devoted to the boss, taking whatever he’ll give. ‘Good morning, Mr McMaster, of course I’ll take dictation, certainly I’ll send flowers to Sarah, I suggest tiger lilies because they’re what the gossip columnists say is her favourite flower.’
Meanwhile…
Meanwhile, Scotty had climbed on the roof to put Santa up himself and Letty had tried to fix it. If she’d had a regular job, where she could go home every night…
She’d told herself this was better. Working twenty-four seven for short bursts and then staying home.
She’d loved twenty-four seven. She loved working for W S McMaster. But now…
Now she’d seen William clinging to the roof, holding her grandma. Now William had held her at the hospital and she’d needed him to hold her.
Two days ago she’d been able to draw a line-that life, this life.
The lines had blurred and it frightened her.
Decisiveness had always been her strong point. She didn’t have to like it but she knew when a decision had to be made. She made one now. Oh, but it hurt.
She took a deep breath. She glanced once more in the direction William had gone. Before he came back, she had to find some resolution.
She took the polka dots and disappeared into the changing room…to change.
She was wearing polka dots.
He’d left her wearing bloodied overalls and truly disgusting boots. She was now wearing what could only be described as a happy dress, a Christmas dress. Her boots had been replaced with white strappy stilettos and her hair, caught back with an elastic band while she’d done the milking, was now a riot of bouncing curls, caught on the side with a tiny red rosette.
She looked about ten years younger.
She looked breathtakingly lovely.
Meg was gazing into the mirror as if she, too, hardly recognised herself. She met his reflected gaze and turned slowly to face him, and he thought if he hadn’t caught her in this she might have fled and taken it off.
‘It’s…it’s silly,’ she said.
‘It’s lovely,’ the shop assistant said definitely. ‘We’ve found two more that are just as pretty, only she won’t buy three. She’s reluctant to buy even this one, but I persuaded her to try it on again. With shoes.’
‘Well done,’ he said, walking closer. ‘I can see it needs shoes.’
‘It’s silly,’ Meg said again.
‘It’s not,’ William said, somehow managing to smile at the shop assistant without taking his eyes off Meg. ‘You look lovely.’
She flushed. ‘I feel like something out of Hollywood.’
‘Great things come out of Hollywood. We’ll take it.’ He still hadn’t taken his eyes from her. ‘And the other two. Wrap the others. She’ll leave this one on.’
‘William…’
‘Say “Yes, Mr. McMaster”.’
‘No!’
‘You’re intending to go to a classy restaurant wearing overalls?’
‘I’m not going to any classy restaurant.’ Her new resolution hadn’t included socialising. She’d have a sandwich on the run and then go back to the hospital. Then she’d get through Christmas. She’d tell him her decision as she put him on the flight back to New York.
A withered spinster gazing adoringly after her boss… She hauled the conjured vision back into her head and held on to it.
Her decision was right, no matter how much it hurt. She had to move forward.
But he was still thinking restaurants. ‘Of course we need to go to a restaurant,’ he said, sounding wounded. ‘I’ve bought new clothes too, so we’re both dressed up. You like my chinos?’
He was smiling at her. Oh, that smile…
‘They’re fine, but…’
‘Hey, I said you’re lovely.’
‘Okay, you’re lovely too,’ she muttered. ‘But we don’t need to match.’
‘Better that we don’t, I think,’ he said softly. ‘But we’ll buy the dresses anyway.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
MEG walked out of the shop feeling as if she were in a freeze-frame from a fifties movie. William put his hand in the small of her back to guide her through the crush of shoppers and the feeling of unreality deepened.
‘Don’t think about it,’ he said, obviously sensing how self-conscious she felt. ‘The crowds were looking when you were covered in blood. They’re still looking, but now they’re smiling. Let’s concentrate on the important things. Like breakfast.’
She’d given up fighting. A sandwich on the run felt good, but anything would do. She was so hungry she was likely to keel over. If he had to take her to a restaurant, then so be it.
