The vintage suitcases we provide are not from the 1920s, but in the style of 1920s suitcases.
Our customers tend to prefer a reliable vintage product. Real vintage items tend to be old and shabby. Not ideal.
To sum up, our suitcases are vintage in that they’re new, but they’re vintage, if that makes sense.
Many thanks,
Theodore
We Care About Vintage! The Only Retailer That Really Cares About Vintage
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The next day, on my way to a dress fitting for another of my brides, Catherine, I get a phone call from an unknown number and immediately panic.
I stop in my tracks, staring at the screen. It could be Melanie Kendall. It could be thepolice.I could be about to go toprison.Although… do the police call before they arrest you? Surely they don’t give criminals any warning. That makes no sense at all. Unless they’re calling to get my alibi?Are they calling to get my alibi?
Think, Sophie, think! I NEED AN ALIBI. OK, I was… I was… home alone! I was home all alone, asleep. No one can verify that. But no one can deny it either.
Unless they check my Uber records.
Why did I get an Uber? Oh, my God, I’ve left a paper trail! My mouth is so dry.
Maybe I don’t answer. No. Wait. I need to answer. I have to know if I’m being investigated. It’s better than not knowing. But I don’t need to answer any questions.I have rights.
“Hello?” I say timidly, answering just before it rings out.
“Emily, hello! It’s Jonathan. Jonathan Farlow? Cordelia’s fiancé. Ugh, I’m not sure about that word ‘fiancé’! It sounds a bit pretentious. Hate using it. Anyway, hi! Sorry! Rambling.”
I’m so relieved, I lean against a wall, smiling into the phone. “Jonathan! It’s you. Thank God!”
“Is everything all right?” he asks, sounding very concerned.
“Yes! Everything’s fine,” I hurriedly assure him, pulling myself together. “I was… uh… I messed up something at work and I thought you might be my boss calling to yell at me. But it’s all OK!”
“Oh, I see.” He chuckles. “Well, we’ve all been there! I’m sure you’ll get it sorted.”
“Absolutely.”
There’s an awkward pause as I wait for him to tell me why he’s calling.
“I hope you don’t mind, I got your number from Victoria. Are you busy or can we chat?”
“We can chat!” I say, finding it unnerving to hear Lady Meade referred to by her first name. I suppose she is his future mother-in-law. “I’ve got a few minutes. I’m on my way to a meeting.”
“Great! I wasn’t sure who else to ask. Now that the wedding is just two months away, I realized I’d better get thinking about a wedding present for Cordelia. I thought I had plenty of time! Now I don’t. I wondered if you could help me find her something on the sly? I’m useless at shopping. Will you help me?”
“I’d love to,” I say, trying not to laugh at his panicked tone. “Don’t worry, we’ll find her the perfect gift.”
“Ah, wonderful, thank you,” he says, sounding relieved. “You’re not free this evening, are you? I can meet you after work? I appreciate it’s last minute, so if you’re busy…”
“I can do this evening,” I assure him. “Tell me where to be and when.”
“Great! I’ll text you.”
I say goodbye and hang up, thrilled that Jonathan has selected me to help him with such an important task. I’m determined not to let him down, and it will be nice to have some time with him away from the family. Though I’m slightly surprisedwhen the text comes through with where he wants to meet: Ye Olde Mitre, a pub in Holborn. I was expecting somewhere like the Savoy or the Artesian, fancy cocktail bars in social hot spots.
It takes me a while to find the pub. It’s tucked away down a very narrow passageway that I walk past twice, but when I finally get there, I couldn’t love it more. It’stiny,cozy and unassuming.
