Isabel Wolff - A Vintage Affair - A page-turning romance full of mystery and secrets from the bestselling author

‘Okay – tell me what you think of the shop. You haven’t seen it for weeks.’

Mum walked round, her elegant little heels tapping over the wooden floor. ‘I like it. It’s not remotely like being in a second-hand shop – it’s more like being somewhere nice , like Phase Eight.’

‘That’s good to hear.’ I lined up the flutes of champagne gently fizzing on the counter.

‘I like the stylish silver mannequins, and there’s a pleasantly uncluttered feel.’

‘That’s because vintage shops can be chaotic – the rails so crammed that you give yourself an upper-body workout just going through them. Here there’s enough light and air between the garments so that browsing will be a pleasure. If an item doesn’t sell, I’ll simply bring out something else. But aren’t the clothes lovely?’

‘Ye-es,’ Mum replied. ‘In a way.’ She nodded at the cupcake dresses. ‘Those are fun.’

‘I know – I adore them.’ I idly wondered who would buy them. ‘And look at this kimono. It’s from 1912. Have you seen the embroidery?’

‘Very pretty …’

‘ Pretty ? It’s a work of art. And this Balenciaga opera coat. Look at the cut – it’s made in just two pieces, including the sleeves. The construction is amazing.’

‘Hmm …’

‘And this coatdress – it’s by Jacques Fath. Look at the brocade with its pattern of little palm trees. Where could you find something like that today?’

‘That’s all very well, but –’

‘And this Givenchy suit: now this would look great on you , Mum. You can wear a knee-length skirt because you’ve got great legs.’

She shook her head. ‘I’d never wear vintage clothes.’

‘Why not?’

She shrugged. ‘I’ve always preferred new things.’

‘I don’t know why.’

‘I’ve told you before, darling – it’s because I grew up in the era of rationing . I had nothing but hideous hand-me-downs – scratchy Shetland jumpers and grey serge skirts and coarse woollen pinafores that smelled like a damp dog when it rained. I used to long for things that no one else had owned, Phoebe. I still do – I can’t help it. Added to which I have a distaste for wearing things that other people have worn.’

‘But everything’s been washed and dry-cleaned. This isn’t a charity shop, Mum,’ I added as I gave the counter a quick wipe. ‘These clothes are in pristine condition.’

‘I know. And it all smells delightfully fresh – I detect no mustiness whatsoever.’ She sniffed the air. ‘Not the faintest whiff of a mothball.’

I plumped up the cushions on the sofa where Dan had been sitting. ‘Then what’s the problem?’

‘It’s the thought of wearing something that belonged to someone who’s probably …’ – she gave a little shudder – ‘ died . I have a thing about it,’ she added. ‘I always have had. You and I are different in that way. You’re like your father. You both like old things … piecing them together. I suppose what you’re doing is a kind of archaeology, too,’ she went on. ‘Sartorial archaeology. Ooh, look, someone’s arriving.’

I picked up two glasses of champagne, then, with adrenaline coursing through my veins and a welcoming smile on my face, I stepped forward to greet the people walking through the door. Village Vintage was open for business …

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