A Summer Fling Read Free Page B

‘Can’t find the price tag though.’
    ‘Nine thousand,’ said snotty assistant woman.
    ‘Pounds?’ gasped Muriel. ‘You’re having a laugh?’
    ‘No, it’s a Vladimir Darq. The reason it’s so cheap is that it’s second-hand.’
    Muriel’s jaw dropped. Cheap was the last word that came to her mind. She was speechless with amazement that someone would pay that amount of money for a frock.
    ‘He’s a famous designer,’ said the assistant. ‘You have heard of him, presumably?’
    ‘Can’t be that famous if I’ve never heard of him!’ sniffed Muriel, enjoying that she was rankling the snotty cow.
    ‘I have,’ nodded Dawn. ‘I didn’t realize he was a wedding dress designer though.’
    ‘He doesn’t make bridal gowns any more,’ said the assistant. ‘This dress was from his very last collection of them – very much sought after.’
    ‘Aye, by people with more money than sense.’ Muriel clicked her tongue loudly.
    ‘I’m not looking for anything that . . . fancy,’ said Dawn. Of course the assistant knew she meant ‘expensive’ by ‘fancy’. She’d taken one look at the pair of them and knew they’d be leaving empty-handed. The mother, she presumed, would have thought a Vera Wang was something that came with fried rice and prawn crackers.
    ‘Our range starts at five thousand for this one,’ said the assistant, presenting a plain white satin dress in a thick polythene cover.
    ‘Oh,’ said Dawn. She cooed over the dress to be polite, but all parties knew this was a no-go sale opportunity. Dawn made noises of ‘maybe having to go home and look at some magazines first,’ in order to leave the shop with some dignity intact. Two minutes later, she let loose a long breath of relief as she stepped outside.
    ‘She thinks she’s in Paris not bloody Barnsley!’ Muriel laughed loudly on the doorstep. ‘Twenty-two quid for a pair of tights? A pair of tights, did you see?’
    It was as they were coming back to Barnsley, via the small, pretty village of Maltstone, that Dawn braked hard opposite the church, nearly sending Muriel through the windscreen.
    ‘Didn’t know there was a bridal shop here, did you, Mu?’
    ‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Muriel with a sniff. ‘I’ve no reason to come to Maltstone. There’s nothing around here for me.’ She wasn’t a woman for garden centres and rural tea-shops.
    Dawn reversed into a parking spot in front of a shop with a bay-window full of the prettiest display of bridalwear. Above the door hung a sign in romantic, swirly text, saying simply ‘White Wedding’.
    The doorbell tinkled daintily as Dawn and Muriel entered.
    ‘ ’King hell, it’s a Tardis!’ said Muriel over-loudly as the narrow shop seemed to go on forever in length. Racks of dresses lined the walls, and showcases of tiaras and shoes ran floor to the cottage-low ceiling. Dawn’s mouth opened in a round O of delight. This is more like it!
    A very slim and smart assistant greeted them with a big smile. On her plain, black fitted dress she wore the name badge ‘Freya’. She was probably the same age as Muriel, thought Dawn, although with her coiffeured hair and unchewed nails, she looked fifteen years younger.
    ‘Can I help you?’ Freya asked Dawn politely.
    ‘I’m getting married and I er . . . need a dress,’ replied Dawn shyly.
    ‘Well, do feel free to wander,’ said Freya. ‘I will say though, don’t judge the dress until you have tried it on. You’d be surprised how many brides go out looking for one particular style only to find it doesn’t suit them at all.’
    ‘Thank you,’ said Dawn, feeling very much at ease in this shop. She and Muriel had a look around but Dawn realized she might need some expert help after all.
    ‘I don’t know where to start, there’s just so many,’ she said. She wanted to get it right because what if she found a dress, bought it, then spotted another one that was nicer? That thought had tortured her a few times.
    ‘Well, let’s