Carrying out the mugs of coffee, she sets Daphne’s in front of her and smiles at Mrs Chen, who comes in once a week to see what’s new and is looking at a black-and-red jacket that is quite clearly miles too big for her.
‘Find anything, Mrs Chen?’ Christina calls.
‘Not yet.’ Mrs Chen puts the jacket back on the rack.
She always looks for jackets, preferably with skirts attached so they make a suit. She is immaculately groomed and carries the same Yves Saint Laurent handbag each time she comes in. It’s the only sign that she doesn’t have huge amounts of cash. In fact, Daphne told Christina that Mrs Chen is a widow who lives in a tiny flat on a fixed income, but she loves clothes and doesn’t want to give them up just because she can’t afford new pieces.
Christina waits until Mrs Chen is at the rack furthest away from the counter before she turns to Daphne.
‘You design clothes?’ she asks quietly.
Daphne blinks but doesn’t respond straightaway, keeping her eyes on Mrs Chen.
‘How do you know that?’ she says after a minute or so.
‘I found your sketches!’ Christina can’t keep the excitement from her voice.
Daphne purses her lips and looks a little upset. ‘Oh?’
‘I wasn’t snooping,’ Christina says hastily. ‘I spilled sugar, had to move the in-tray. I didn’t know they were yours at first. But they are – aren’t they?’
They both watch as Mrs Chen comes back toward them bearing a scarf and a triumphant smile. ‘Rolled edges!’ she declares, proffering the scarf which bears the Louis Vuitton logo repeated. The rolled edges are the signifier that the scarf is genuine.
Christina hasn’t seen this scarf – it must be new – but can see it has a reasonable price on it. That would be Daphne’s work: when there’s a designer item, she doesn’t mark up the price. Her rationale, she has told Christina, is to make luxury accessible to anyone. The regulars know that and most don’t blab about it, which prevents hordes of strangers coming to raid their racks.
‘A true find,’ Daphne says approvingly, even though the scarf wasn’t exactly hidden: it was wrapped around the neck of a mannequin.
Daphne takes Mrs Chen’s cash and writes her a receipt, and she leaves with a big smile on her face.
‘That’ll have made her week,’ Daphne says.
‘Great! Now … those sketches.’
Daphne makes a harrumphing noise. ‘What about them?’
‘They’re so good, Daphne.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Come on – you know they are!’
‘They’re just something I do to pass the time.’
There’s an uncertainty in her tone, but Christina doesn’t know her well enough to prod her about it.
‘Have you always designed?’ she asks instead.
Another harrumph. ‘I’d hardly call it designing.’
‘I would. There are some great clothes there. Have you ever had anything made?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Christina, love …’ Daphne sighs. She looks past Christina to the street. ‘It’s too late.’
‘Too late?’ Christina says, frowning.