The pink is flattering against her skin tone and the shape flatters her figure. And at a cost of ten dollars, she knows she won’t find better.
At 5 p.m. on Friday she puts on the dress and a simple gold necklace. She has a long neck, so necklaces suit her. She puts her hair up and dons gold drop earrings her mother used to favour for evenings out.
Lavinia pronounces her approval, and at six o’clock on the dot the doorbell rings.
‘Miss King,’ Stephen says, beaming, as Margot opens the door to him.
‘Please call me Margot,’ she says without really deciding to.
‘Margot.’ He takes her hand and raises it to his lips, which hover over her skin before he lets go.
She is charmed; she can’t help it. Stephen can’t know how much she loves chivalrous gestures, which makes it even more chivalrous to her.
As they descend the steps to the road he offers his hand to steady her in her low heels. She takes it and smiles.
He escorts her to his car, an older-model Mercedes-Benz, then drives them to Kirribilli, nestled next to the northern approach to the Sydney Harbour Bridge.
Margot has always loved the Bridge. She’s never known Sydney without it, although Lavinia has told her stories of a time when crossing from the north shore to the city was by ferry alone, unless a person travelled inland to Parramatta, where theharbour ends in the so-called Parramatta River that isn’t really a river at all.
From where Stephen parks the car they can see across to the lights of the city, and Margot feels something shift with the realisation that she has never been to the city at night. In fact, since her parents died she hasn’t gone out at night at all. There is a world out here. A city, with ferries and restaurants and the Opera House sitting right there – right there! – across the water from where she stands now.
‘It’s so beautiful,’ she almost whispers.
Stephen offers her his arm, and she takes it. ‘It is,’ he says. ‘Sometimes I find myself taking it for granted. Then I see a view like this and remember that there’s nowhere quite like it in the world.’
Margot wouldn’t know. She hasn’t been outside of Sydney. Except … there’s a tug, in her solar plexus. Almost like a gentle hook has found its way into her and someone is pulling on it. Is there a life out there that she’s meant to be living? Are there places she’s meant to visit? Music she’s meant to hear? Conversations she’s meant to have?
She gasps with the possibility of it, then feels a pang of fear at how enormous it all seems. How far beyond her.
‘I love your dress,’ Stephen says, bringing her back to the here and now.
‘Thank you,’ she says.
‘It looks like it was made just for you.’
They pause on the footpath and she turns to him with a smile. A big smile that feels unfamiliar on her face.
‘Thank you,’ she repeats. ‘I feel as though it was.’
He gestures to a door next to them. ‘Shall we?’ he says, then opens it for her.
And as she walks into the restaurant she feels as though she is stepping through the wardrobe into Narnia, a land she has never visited but is desperately curious to explore.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Since Christmas Day Lucy has avoided being at home as much as she can whenever Russell’s there, which isn’t easy given it’s school holidays and he’s usually not working full days at the shop. She’s still working her hours and staying later to sew, but other than that she’s been at the library or the beach. Poppy is at her parents’ beach house in Umina, and Angelica has gone to Europe. Lucy feels like she’s floating through her life, not really anchored anywhere, not sure how she will manage her final year at school if this continues.
The charity shop is the other place she’s spending more time. It feels like a calm haven where she can be sure no one will yell at her or try to oust her from her own life. Daphne accepts her as she is: Lucy who loves clothes and making things. At home, at her parents’ business, she is Lucy with so many other labels attached, most of which she doesn’t want.
This evening she’s at the dry-cleaning shop, altering a couple of items she bought at the charity shop. One of them is a wedding dress that looks like it was never worn. Daphne gave it to her – wouldn’t let her pay for it, which she couldn’t believe. Daphne said no bride would buy it because it might be seen as bad luck to wear someone else’s dress. As Lucy isn’t a bride, though, Daphne thought she might make use of it, and Lucy has some ideas.
The other item is a men’s business shirt with pink and white stripes. It’s far too big for her to wear as a shirt, which is fine, because she wants to make it into a dress.
She’s also working on two new patterns: one for a simple shift dress and one for a blouse. The thrill of feeling, watching, a piece of fabric become a piece of clothing in her hands grows greater each time. If only she’d discovered this earlier!
That’s what she told Daphne the other day. It was Daphne who gave her the new patterns, encouraging her to try different things.
‘Now you’ve made that lovely dress,’ she said, ‘the sky’s the limit!’