She paired it with dark-blue court shoes and donned a white frilly-necked blouse underneath the jacket – as she’d seen Diana, Princess of Wales do – and went off to her first day at the chambers in Phillip Street. Right near the University of Sydney Law School, where she had hoped to study. It was bittersweet, going to work there.
She wore the outfit once a fortnight for a while, rotating it with other outfits in her wardrobe. Then one day she decided she was sick of it and she retired it.
A couple of months after that, one of the barristers stopped by her desk. Johnny, he was called. She didn’t think the barristers should have young-sounding nicknames when they had such serious jobs, but it suited him. She knew from one of the paralegals who liked to gossip at morning tea that Johnny was in his mid-forties and had two sons in their teens. His wife had died two years before, and Johnny had a housekeeper to help take care of the boys.
‘Where’s that lovely blue suit?’ he asked the secretary, startling her, because all he usually said was ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’.
‘It’s having a rest,’ she said, not interested in being challenged about her clothing choices.
He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling. ‘That’s a shame. I was fond of it.’
She shrugged. ‘Oh well. Maybe you should buy yourself a blue velvet tie to remember it by.’
The next week he came up to her wearing such a tie, looking proud of himself. She threw back her head and laughed, and he looked so pleased.
They were married eighteen months later. She loved becoming a stepmother, and was more surprised than anyone when she became pregnant with twins not long after the wedding.
After they were born, her entire wardrobe had to go. Her body was so different, and she couldn’t foresee it coming back to what it had been. Besides, with four children in the house they needed more space, so she pared back her clothes and gave some to charity.
She didn’t miss the midnight-blue jacket and skirt. They had served their purpose and were falling out of fashion anyway. As the calendar turned into the 1990s, full skirts and shoulder pads were out. Still, she hoped some other woman might find a use for the suit. Maybe she’d get lucky with it herself and find a kind man to love her.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Margot has come to The Frock Shop today on a special mission. Actually, two missions. The first is to see the new shop, as she hasn’t visited since it officially opened in mid May.
She saw the article in theMosman Dailyabout how Hollywood star Christina Clarke had taken over the lease of the shop and reopened it as The Frock Shop, leaving it in the care of Daphne when she has to travel. There was a lovely photo of Christina and Daphne and a teenager, Lucy, who has an after-school job there, it seems.
There was also a very old photo of some lady called Ophelia Pankhurst, with a very young Daphne by her side. This was the first time Margot knew how long Daphne has been involved with the shop. The article also mentioned that her husband died recently – and that spurred Margot into action. She’s had a bit on her mind lately so has barely had time to think about anything else. Time needs to be made, though, for Daphne.
As she opens the door of the shop she sees that it is transformed. Its previous dark walls are now white, and there are pretty lights on them. The counter is new – low, with a distressed-wood finish. There is one rack of day dresses and another of evening gowns. Others hold tops, pants and skirts.One display case holds jewellery, another sunglasses. There are ferns in the corners, and the whole feeling is light and cheerful.
Christina is behind the counter, wearing a high-necked white dress with a full skirt, under a soft pink jacket.
‘Hello, Margot!’ she calls, and Margot can hardly believe that Christina remembers her.
‘Hello, Christina. I thought I’d …’ She glances around, still surprised at the transformation. ‘I wanted to see the new shop.’
‘Isn’t it divine? Ilovethe decor. Duncan did an amazing job.’
Christina smiles, and now that Margot knows that Christina is a movie star she sees why she’s so noted for her beauty: there is a radiance to her that mere mortals don’t have. Not that she had it the first time Margot met her, but she does now. It’s almost like she has an inner lamp that’s been switched on.
‘Is Daphne here?’ Margot asks. She doesn’t mind talking to Christina, but Daphne is the one she really wants to see.
‘Sure.’ Christina slips out from behind the counter and goes down a side corridor that Margot has never noticed before. ‘Daph!’ she calls.
She sees Margot looking at the corridor and says, ‘It goes to the stairs. It was behind some plyboard – can you believe that? A whole corridor to the flat upstairs! We thought there was only the back entrance to it.’
‘There’s a flat?’
Christina nods. ‘We’ve put Lucy’s workroom up there. More space. Daphne was just up chatting to her.’
When Daphne appears she looks tired but not unhappy.
‘Hello, Margot,’ she says as she approaches. ‘What do you think of the place?’
‘It’s lovely. So different.’
‘Back to its glamorous old self.’ Daphne winks. ‘How’s tricks?’